


Career Opportunities for Swots

by songquake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songquake/pseuds/songquake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before starting their Seventh Year, Hogwarts students are required to take a month-long “apprenticeship.” Everyone is in for a surprise this year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Announcement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo/gifts).



> Written as a gift for wwmrsweasleydo for the 2010 round of HP Georgecentric. 
> 
> Beta'd by ronspigwidgeon and reikokatsura.

HOGWARTS APPRENTICESHIP LIST TO BE RELEASED THIS FRIDAY

>   
> _Monday, 4th June, 2025_
> 
> Though we expect bits of information to leak out after students are notified of their assignments sometime in the next three days, the publication of Hogwarts' pre-NEWT apprenticeship list shall not take place until this Friday, 8th June. 
> 
> “Let's allow the children to come to terms with their assignments and contact their mentors and families before you start to harass them,” stated Ginevra Weasley Potter, Holyhead Harpy and Director of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, when asked to comment on the list. “They are still _students_ , for heaven's sake. Why the public thinks it has the right to know about the educational paths of everybody else's children is beyond me. You're pathetic.” 
> 
> Mrs Potter has been noted for her short temper with members of the press since questions regarding her son James' appropriateness for the prestigious Department of Mysteries work-experience arose after the publication of the 2023 Apprenticeship List. 
> 
> In light of such a controversy, the Board of Governors determined that prospective mentors would receive only the OWL scores, NEWT-level classes, and list of extracurricular activities, as well as a brief essay regarding other interests and talents by potential apprentices. From these data, each mentor would choose the candidate he or she believed would benefit most from spending a summer gaining work-experience in their field.
> 
> All students will receive their assignment letters on the same day of this week; in deference to the students' privacy, the Board of Governors has kept the date of the letters' delivery a secret.
> 
> The Hogwarts Apprenticeship Programme was instituted in 2003, as it became widely recognised that much of the young Wizarding population had not put forth much effort into planning their futures, despite the career counselling beginning in their fifth year. “Apprenticeship” is a bit of a misnomer, as the students are unpaid and work for only a month, from the first Monday of their summer holidays until the 31st of July. The Apprenticeship Summer is an opportunity for rising seventh-year students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to explore areas that may fall outside the normal curriculum, or apply the knowledge from the curriculum in unfamiliar ways. It allows students to gain a sense of what it is like to work in a field for which they have demonstrated an aptitude and, in most cases, an interest. They also gain the opportunity to form networks of influence in their desired field of occupation. 
> 
> Since the inception of the programme, the percentage of fresh NEWT recipients who spend more than two months out of work has dropped to 10 per cent, mostly from the leisure class.
> 
> The _Daily Prophet_ looks forward to welcoming our own apprentice, who will be exploring journalism under the mentorship of the acclaimed Rita Skeeter.

“I don't understand why you waste your time on that rag,” Albus Severus Potter said to his best friend, who was engrossed in the _Daily Prophet_ —as he was most mornings. Al knew what Score was going to say, but had to needle him anyway. That's what friends were for, right? Poking fun at one another's habits and such?

Scorpius Malfoy sighed before turning, _again_ , to Albus to respond. “I read it because it is important to know—”

“—What the world thinks, and how I can use that information to my advantage,” Al and several nearby Slytherins joined in, a chorus to rival that of any Greek tragedy. 

“I don't know why you ask, when you already know the answer. Oh, and Al? Your mum's in the paper again. It looks like she may not have been misquoted this time.”

“Huh. I'll have to owl her. Did they write about her being the One True Love of the Chosen One, again?” 

“Oddly, no. Nor did they conjecture about your own prospects.”

“Oh, about the work-experience selections? Well, it will be interesting to see where I end up, seeing as I have family in most of the businesses that interest—” Albus was cut off by the sound of the Headmistress' goblet singing, joined by the crystal goblets of other members of the faculty. Minerva McGonagall had retired the practise of pinging the goblet to get the attention of the Great Hall when she had risen to Headmistress, but maintained that gathering attention by means of Muggle methods—in this case, vibrating the edge of her crystal goblet—was an excellent reminder of what Muggles contributed to the culture of Wizarding Britain. 

“ _Ahem_ ,” Headmistress McGonagall cleared her throat as the Hall quieted. “I am sure many of you have already seen today's article in the _Prophet_ about summer apprenticeships for rising seventh-years. At the end of breakfast, I would like to have the sixth-years remain so I may address any concerns you might have in advance. Until then, please enjoy the rest of your meal.”

The buzz of student chatter rose again in the Great Hall, and Albus turned to Scorpius. “What do you think she needs to talk to us about? I mean, we all know how the process goes and what we're expected to do, right? There can't be _that_ much of a difference from year to year.”

“Not all of us have the benefit of a gaggle of cousins or an older brother,” Scorpius retorted.“Though I suppose virtually everyone is friends with some Potter or Weasley.” 

“Too true, too true. But this will still be dead boring, don't you think?” Albus' voice lowered. “Think we can spice it up a bit?”

“Hm,” was the non-committal reply. 

As the rest of the student body left for their first classes, Professor McGonagall stood again. “Well, move on up to the front of your House tables, then. I don't think I should need to cast a _Sonorus_ if it's just you lot.” 

Scorpius snorted. _“You lot,” she says. As if she were both a lower-class Scot_ and _disapproving of those of us in this year._ Annoyed, he took up Al’s suggestion to plot a little excitement. Looking up, he saw rainclouds gathering in the enchanted ceiling. _Hm, I wonder what I could do with that...._

“Now, I'm sure all of you are aware that your apprenticeship assignments will be distributed this week. I want to impress upon each of you that the matching process went forth without any potential supervisors knowing for certain whose reports they were receiving for review. I also want to assure you that, while we made sure not to send applications to anyone's relatives,” at this, Professor McGonagall cast a baleful look at Albus and Rose, “neither did we ignore the interests and future plans any of you mentioned in your personal statements. I am aware that some of you will be surprised at your placements; be that as it may, you should take this as an opportunity to learn under people considered masters in their fields, as recommended by their peers. 

“As the _Daily Prophet_ noted this morning, a list of students and your placements shall be published this Friday. However, since we did want to give you a chance to process the information without being hassled by the media, as well as the opportunity to contact both your families and your new mentors, we shall be revealing the assignments to you after today's last lesson. If you have questions about your particular assignments, you may come and see me with them during one of your free periods this week.

“Do any of you have questions regarding the process, or what is to happen this week?”

Rose Granger-Weasley raised her hand. “Two, Headmistress,” she said. “One: when do our supervisors learn who they will be apprenticing? Two: how do we know they won't go running to the press about this?”

“Excellent questions, Miss Granger-Weasley. Five points to Ravenclaw. The answer is that they are learning today as well, but have been instructed not to owl you until at least Wednesday, nor to speak to others about whom they shall be teaching until the official list has been published.” 

“Headmistress?” Pamela Cornfoot said as she stuck her hand in the air. “What if we don't _want_ to work with the Master or Mistress we've been assigned to? What if our _parents_ don't approve of us spending our summer holiday with them?” 

Professor McGonagall sighed wearily. “Unfortunately, you haven’t much recourse should you decide you don't like the particular _person_ supervising you. I can assure you, however, that each of you is assigned to an apprenticeship the Board of Hogwarts' Subcommittee on Internships believes suits your aspirations and talents. This was not the case last year. But, in consideration of our mistakes of the past few years, we decided to look at each of your applications to determine two or three types of settings which would be good for you, and then sent your profiles to a select group of contacts in each profession. If we believed a certain prospect for you would not act in your benefit, we avoided sending your profile to that person. 

“You needn't worry, Miss Cornfoot; we would not be so crass as to send you to work with anyone named McLaggen,” she said, giving Pamela a sympathetic look. The sixth-years tried to stifle their tittering. It was well-known that the ink was barely dry on her divorce from Cormac McLaggen before Pamela’s mother Amy had become pregnant and married Michael Cornfoot. Mr McLaggen had since been known to “surprise” the Cornfoot family in public, ranting at Mr and Mrs Cornfoot, and even Pamela, for ‘destroying his family.’

“As for parental disapproval, at the beginning of the year, each of your families was sent a consent form for this programme with a letter detailing how selection and service would take place. Each of them signed, having been advised that once the signatures of parents, students, and supervisors had been collected, they became binding magical contracts, and that the decisions of the Subcommittee would be final. It is yet theoretically possible for any party to appeal, but be aware that, except for those of you who were under-age when you signed, the Board will take a rather dim view of any attempts to wiggle out of the contract. And if one has a parent on the Board, that parent would be expected to recuse him- or herself from the discussion.

“Any more pressing questions?” Professor McGonagall asked. Not a student raised his or her hand. “Excellent. Go on and use the rest of this period as a study hall, and be sure to report _on time_ to your next lesson.”

As Professor McGonagall stood to watch the students file out, Scorpius rose with his classmates. Only Albus noticed a twitch of his wand as he muttered, “ _Pluvial cadet per obem_ ,” and so only Albus was unsurprised by the raindrops that fell from the ceiling onto the students and Headmistress. Scorpius exited the Great Hall, ignoring the cries of dismay from those still inside.

“ _Awesome_ ,” Al whispered to Scorpius as they started down the corridor towards the dungeons.

“Simple, really. It’s a wonder nobody’s done it before. Anyway, the lecture. What do you think?” Scorpius asked Albus after they passed through the portrait to the Slytherin common room.

“I think one of us, or maybe Rose, is going to get a shite placement,” Albus grumbled. “We're the only three in our year to have parents on the Board of Governors.”

“Merlin, Al—you're sounding as cynical as I usually am. This programme is the opportunity of a lifetime! Getting to work with a Master in our fields of interest? As far as I’m concerned, if my mentor can help me learn what I need to, then I'll worship him. Or her. Even if I get placed with a goblin or something!” 

“My, you _are_ cheery with anticipation. You know, I don't think you ever told me what you wanted to do.” Albus looked pointedly at Scorpius. 

“Oh. Well, you'll likely think it daft.” Scorpius evaded, his normally pale face pinkening. 

“Are you planning to train to be one of those male dancers who wears shiny gold knickers and dances ’round a pole?”

“ _No_ , but if you know where I could witness such dancers, do tell me.” Scorpius paused.

“Well?”

“I want to be an inventor,” Scorpius muttered, but Albus, from years of experience, understood him. 

Al looked at him thoughtfully. “An inventor. I’ve no idea how you would go about making money at it, but I can see you wanting to create things. Or spells, like whatever it was that you did in the Great Hall.”

Scorpius snorted. “Well, I'm hoping that I'll get placed with someone who can mentor me both in the processes of creating functional spells and items, and in the logistics of earning an income from it. Because you’re right: you don't see many Help Wanteds for inventors.”

* * *

_At least I'm not Albus,_ thought Scorpius as he inked a letter to his parents. He doubted they would be thrilled at the news that he was matched with George Weasley “to work in product development for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.” But Papa's reaction to that would certainly be outdone by Harry Potter's reaction to the news that his middle child would be spending the summer “apprenticing” under Rita Skeeter. 

“Aughh!” Albus let out another strangled cry. “Do you think McGonagall would allow me to appeal without owling my dad first?” 

“Have you requested a conference yet?” Scorpius asked, barely looking up from his missive. 

“Yeah. Have you asked for yours?”

Scorpius looked askance at his friend's implication. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, it's...it's _George_!” Albus' voice was incredulous. “Why would you want to work in a _joke shop_ , Score? You're way smarter than most salespeople, even the ones at Wheezes!” George Weasley, Albus’ uncle, was well-known for hiring only ‘the brightest pranksters from Hogwarts’ for his shop.

“ _Inventing_. Most of the things at Wheezes are things George and the others who work there either invented or modified from objects that were already around. The letter said that I'd primarily be apprenticing in 'product development.' And working in the shop too, of course. Which doesn't capture my fancy much, really, but I'm willing to do it for the opportunity to create and learn what I need to do to earn income from my creations.”

“Oh,” said Albus. “That's really well thought-out.”

“I put a lot of thought into my essay. So why do you think you were placed with Skeeter?”

“I don't know...” groaned Albus. “I mean, I've always done well in Charms and Transfiguration and Muggle Studies... But I didn't write about them so much in my essay. I wrote about my dreams of travel and learning about how different magical communities work. You know, wizards and creatures both. But they're not _sending_ me anywhere! Just to London, to that shrew....”

“I can see why they'd put you in the newspaper business, though,” replied Scorpius. “I mean, I'd imagine there _might_ be room for a Quidditch intern to travel, but as for learning about people, there's nothing like having to interview them. You'll gain some skills at that, if she’ll let you interview and write. And, you have to admit, writing always _has_ come easier to you than anyone else in our year, even Rose. As for Skeeter... I'd imagine she is one of the few Slytherin alumni who actually reports. It's more our style to stay behind the scenes and influence subtly. Or so my father says.”

Albus sighed. “I suppose you're right. So what are you writing to your dad?”

Scorpius pushed his parchment over so that Scorpius could read it.

> Dear Maman and Papa,
> 
> I'm sure you have been awaiting my letter with bated breath; you do know how much I worked on my application for the internship program. I am pleased to tell you that I have received a placement that is close to ideal for me. 
> 
> I shall be apprenticing under George Weasley, in the product development division at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. It is my hope that this will assist me in my improvement as an inventor and provide me with the knowledge required to follow my life's calling to create practical objects and spells. 
> 
> I have not yet heard from Mr Weasley, but shall write to him very soon—I wanted to let you know about my placement before I did anything else. The work-experience programme, as the packet that came with the letter states, does not require apprentices to reside at or near the place of business, so I expect I'll be staying at the Manor and Flooing to work. Or Apparating, once I know exactly where I’m going. 
> 
> I hope that you are both well, and that you are as happy for me as I am for myself. 
> 
> Your loving son,  
> Scorpius

“Are you always this formal with your family?” blurted Albus as he finished reading, though he had certainly seen his best friend's' writing before. Scorpius was, however, much less structured and proper when corresponding with Albus over their holidays.   
Scorpius chuckled. “When I first came to Hogwarts, I wasn't. But last year my parents decided that it was fitting for me to learn how to write a 'proper' letter, as well as take lessons in elocution. I did tell you about those, didn't I?”

“The elocution lessons, but I don't remember lessons in correspondence.” 

“Oh. That's probably because it was just sitting down with Maman while we were in France visiting Papa's family. We would spend one afternoon a week practising. Really, it was a nice exercise; we would sit in the sunny parlour, and my mother went over my practice letters before we wrote to other family members together.”

“Oh,” said Albus. “Yeah, that sounds nice, if you're into that. My mum's never taught me that way, though.”

“Your mother isn't a woman of leisure,” Scorpius reminded him. 

Albus nodded, then cast a quick _Tempus_. “Oi, I'm supposed to be meeting with McGonagall in her office in ten minutes!”

“Good luck. Hope you can bring her 'round.”

“Yeah. I'll be off, then. See you at dinner.”

Scorpius then began writing a ‘Letter of Introduction’ to George Weasley, making sure to let his enthusiasm show through the formal tone of the letter.

> I am terribly excited to have the opportunity to work under you. I hope to learn much from my placement at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, and also to help you as you continue to expand the selection of goods at your emporium...

* * *

George wore a bemused expression as he read the missive from young Malfoy. _So formal!_ he thought. _But that's a Malfoy for you. Hm, isn't this the one Al’s so close with? I'll have to Floo Harry and find out what he's like._

“Verity!” George called. “Could you come back here for a moment?”

“One minute, I have to get Andrea to work the till, then.” 

When she arrived to the third floor of the shop, an open space which served as product laboratory and business office, George gestured to a chair. “I've got some news. Remember how I signed up for the Summer Apprentice Program? Well, I've heard from both the Ministry and from the student today.”

“Yeah? Who've we got?”

“A young man named Scorpius Malfoy.”

Verity snorted. “That'd be Draco's brat?” A year younger than George, and a Ravenclaw, Verity had been subject to even more exposure to Scorpius' father than the twins had. 

“Ye—No! Not a brat! At least I don't think so.” George paused, trying to collect his thoughts about the impressions the young man's writings had left, as well as what he knew from being Al’s uncle. “He was terribly respectful in his letter, and his application essay was... _effusive_ about his interest in inventions and modifications.”

“Right.” His second-in-command was still smirking, looking disconcertingly like _she_ were a Malfoy.

“ _Please_ , Verity. Just listen a mo'. I'm getting to an age where I want to start passing on some of my knowledge about the business, even to people who might not use the knowledge in the same way. But we both know that I'm not cut out to be an instructor, nor is there really a class that would require my skills. My kids... Yeah, Freddie and Rox aren't excited about running a shop—Fred seems to be happy hanging out with Charlie for now, and Roxanne may very well follow her mum into Quidditch.” George gave a long-suffering sigh, holding up his hand to keep Verity from interrupting. “Look. You've been here the longest of everyone else in the shop. I want to chat with you about setting up the parameters of his apprenticeship. Could we, for once, take something seriously?”

Verity lounged back in her seat. “Sure, George. I dig. Just one question: Is this Scorpius Malfoy as much of a young hooligan as we were?”

“Er... I couldn't say. He doesn’t have quite as many detentions as either of us did, and none of them were terribly long...”

“Well, he _is_ a Slytherin, right? So we’ll just hope he's got a sense of humour and thick skin. We wouldn't want to break him too quickly, would we?”

“Verity...”

“Oh, alright,” she said. “No breaking the apprentice. So, then, the first thing we'll have to sort is his uniform...”

* * *

Albus' face was resigned when he showed up to the Great Hall that evening. “I'd thought of just snagging a bite from the House Elves,” he told Scorpius, “but I reckoned you would worry if I didn't show.”

“What did the Headmistress say?” Scorpius asked before taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

Albus muttered under his breath as he served himself some pot roast. 

“Sorry?”

“I _said_ , she basically gave me the same arguments you did, and also said that perhaps getting to know me as her apprentice would change the way Skeeter approached writing about the families of heroes and celebrities. So,” he continued, growling, “my own comfort is being sacrificed to the Greater Good. Seems to have become a Potter Family Tradition.” 

Scorpius winced. “I'm sorry, Al. That's terribly unfair. But at least you don't have to fight the embodiment of evil, right?”

“Well, no,” Albus said slowly, “though I think she's evil enough. So then I had to write to my dad and mum, and go up to the Owlery to send it.”

As though they’d heard their work mentioned, dozens of owls swooped through the windows, landing by their addressees. It was an unusually full evening post, but then, the majority of sixth-years had written to their parents and mentors that afternoon. Two owls approached Scorpius; two landed beside Albus. 

Scorpius opened the letter from his parents first. It simply congratulated him and asked whether he would require materials in order to be outfitted for the position. Scorpius nodded to himself, having expected—or hoped for—that outcome.

The second letter, of course, was from Mr Weasley. Mr Malfoy, it began.

> Thank you for contacting me so promptly. In my business, as in most businesses, your timeliness will only serve you well. 
> 
> Please do call me George, though. We don’t stand much on ceremony here, and if you were to address me formally, I fear both of us might be subject to great ridicule by staff and customers alike. In turn, I would like permission to refer to you by your given name. I know that many young people are still raised to be formal with anyone other than family members and close friends; while I will respect this should we meet away from work, it is simply outside the character of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes to use any sort of formality in the shop itself. In addition, I hope that you will grow to consider the staff at Wheezes as a sort of second family, as we generally consider one another to be. 
> 
> I would like some information about your specific interests and progress in the area of developing new charms, contraptions and/or potions; you might as well send a list of what you’ve made so far, and what you’re currently working on. Areas you would like me to tutpr you in, as well. 
> 
> Please also provide me with your measurements (or permission for Madame Malkin to disclose them) so that I might procure a Wheezes’ uniform for you.
> 
> I will be treating you largely as I would any new member of my staff, at least at first. All staff members are given one day of work per week to concentrate on product development, and during the beginning of your apprenticeship I shall have you spending your “creative time” working alongside myself, so that we can get a sense of what ideas you have on your own, and how well you work in collaboration with others (the second stage of invention at Wheezes must be done with at least one partner, for safety reasons). You will also be working the till, assisting customers, and assisting Andrea with the bookkeeping as needed. In addition, as the summer goes on, I will have you accompany me as we get any new products ready, both legally and physically, for distribution.
> 
> I look forward to your response, and even more to working with you. 
> 
> Sincerely,   
> **George Weasley**  
>  Founder and Proprietor  
> Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes

“Well, George, then,” Scorpius muttered in acknowledgment of the radically informal culture of anything Weasley. “Al, you want to look this over?” 

Albus looked up from reading his father’s letter, which, thankfully, had come on regular parchment rather than the smoking crimson of a Howler. “Not yet,” he said. “Re-reading the letter from Dad. Trying to work out what _exactly_ he means, and what I’m supposed to do now.” 

“What _exactly_?” 

“Yeah,” Albus said. “He _wrote_ that since there’s nothing we can do about it, I should make the best of it, and that he was sure that Skeeter would not do anything too horrible to me or the family. But he can’t mean that. He’s always said that she’s done everything in her power to exploit him since he was a fourth-year!” 

Scorpius nodded, as he often found himself doing during one of his friend’s rants. He was, by nature, less vocal than Albus Severus; his father liked to call him “ruminative.” He was also quieter than his father, by far. 

Albus wasn’t the rowdiest of their year, not at all, but... he was still a _Weasley_. Scorpius had heard, first from his parents and then through his own ears, that their family was so noisy that a trumpet spelled with _Sonorus_ would have trouble have trouble being heard. So, even though he was the most reticent of the Potter-Weasleys, that really wasn’t saying much. 

“Anyway,” finished Al, “I better read _her_ letter downstairs. I don’t want to have to tell Lils what’s in it until I’ve, er, digested it myself.”

Scorpius took _’digested’_ to mean ‘ranted, tantrumed, spat about, and stomped upon.’ That was behaviour any Slytherin would take care to keep in the private of the dungeons. Preferably alone, in a sealed and silenced dormitory.


	2. Wheezes

>   
> RISING SEVENTH-YEARS TO BEGIN APPRENTICESHIPS TODAY!

>   
> _Monday, 3rd July, 2025_
> 
> ... “The vast majority of the placements seem sensible,” commented Madame Rosmerta Montgomery of Hogsmeade. “I, myself, shall be mentoring young Brighid Finnegan, who hopes to follow her parents’ path in runnin’ a pub house. But a few? Who could ken a Malfoy working for a Weasley? Or Harry Potter’s young man spending any time with Rita Skeeter?”
> 
> Indeed, these two assignments are the ones to have drawn the most public attention. Lord Draco Malfoy, father of young Scorpius Malfoy, who shall be apprenticing at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, declined to comment on his son’s summer plans. He did, however, say, “For pity’s sake, the War was over for eight years before these children were born! I’m _friends_ with Harry Potter now. Likewise, the feud between the Malfoys and the Weasleys ceased years ago.” 
> 
> The parents of Albus Severus Potter did not return several owls requesting an interview. They have not, however, sought to withdraw their son from the programme [ _see p. 7 for an account of the many unsubstantiated complaints members of the Potter family have brought against the press over the years_ ]. Albus Severus is, of course, the son of the Man-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, and Ginevra Potter Weasley, Seekers’ coach for the Holyhead Harpies.
> 
> We at _The Daily Prophet_ do look forward to meeting and working with young Mr Potter as he learns the proud art of journalism.

Scorpius rolled his eyes at the side-by-side photos of Rita Skeeter and Albus as he finished his tea and scone. At least the annoyance of press coverage was a good distraction from the knot of tension twisting in his belly. He took a deep breath, catching the attention of his parents.

“All right there, son?”

Scorpius looked at his father. “Yes, Papa. Just a bit nervous about starting my apprenticeship.” He cast a quick _Tempus_. “I’m due at half-seven.” 

“You’ll be Flooing, then?” his mother asked, and Scorpius smiled unconsciously. He was always mildly surprised when he managed to take notice of the melodious quality of her voice. He took it too much for granted, he knew. 

“I shall be. As soon as I put on my boots.” George had been insistent that WWW pay for his uniform, but suggested that he wear dragonhide boots for his first day, since he would not actually be “on duty.” Apparently one’s feet were always endangered, even when “off-duty.” 

“And you’ve remembered the list of your current experiments, dear?”

“ _Yes_ , Maman. It’s sitting in my rucksack by the Floo,” Scorpius said, hoping he didn’t sound as whiny as he thought. It was his impatience, that’s all. Not disrespect. “And I had better be going. I love you both,” he said, as he bussed his mother’s cheek and nodded to his father. 

“And we’ll see you for dinner?” Draco asked, with that relaxed tone he used when he was expecting a leisurely discussion. 

“Of course. I’m sure I’ll have loads to tell.” Now he had to rush. Stupid parents. They always thought their questions were more important than his need to get places on time. 

Scorpius strode quickly from the family dining room to the drawing room, where his boots, rucksack, and a Floo awaited. Doing up his boots as quickly as possible, he grabbed a handful of grainy Floo Powder and tossed it into the fire. “Office, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes!” he called, and stepped into the flames. 

Coughing as he emerged, Scorpius took a quick survey of the room he was in. It appeared to serve several purposes, though he was sure he couldn’t deduce them all. There seemed to be a small, makeshift potions lab in one corner, opposite the entryway. A high wooden table, covered with random objects in various states of assembly, stood a few metres from it at the corner of the opposite wall. The floor at the centre of the room seemed to be comprised of a cushy purple material rather than wood, and held squashy pillows along its edge. A settee and several squashy chairs were arranged around this area. And George Weasley was rising from a hard-backed chair at a battered desk to the right of the Floo. 

“Welcome to the lab-cum-office, Scorpius. What do you think?” 

Scorpius was startled by the voice, and nearly snorted at ‘lab-cum-office’, but he recovered quickly. “Good morning, Mr Weasley. I didn’t notice you there.” He paused. “So this is where all the non-sales work takes place? Seems a bit small for that.” 

“Well, only one type of experimentation, or any kind of work for that matter, is permitted in here at a time. Some of our potions prep can take place at the adaptation station,” George indicated the bar-like table in the corner, “and all of our product testing happens within the Testing Area, which we ward so as to keep experiments from...disrupting the rest of our projects. Actually, each individual area is generally warded for the protection of all of them.”

“And all the staff, I’d imagine,” Scorpius added, chuckling already. 

“But of course,” George said with an answering chuckle, and began to list for Scorpius the types of wards that were used in each area and why. 

Scorpius half-listened as he took in the appearance of his new “mentor.” George Weasley was an inch or so shorter than him, and _solid_. He looked to be more muscle than fat, and at any rate could probably tip Scorpius like a sapling in the wind. He wore his longish hair tied low at the nape of his neck, messily secured with a simple leather thing. It hair was ginger (of course), with bits of white starting to twist from where he parted it on the side, the long half of his fringe was mostly in his eye, though some of it was swept upwards in an attempt to tuck it behind his left ear. The hair on the other side fell past his jaw, covering the hole where his right ear used to be, as well as most of what looked to be some scarring from magical burn It was all too common in his parents’ generation; Papa had always said he was amazed that the only external scars he had were his Dark Mark and the long, clean line of healed _Sectumsempra_. 

Scorpius let his gaze drop a bit. George wore horrifyingly magenta robes. Scorpius tried to bend his mind around the idea of wearing his own for the next two months. 

Scorpius returned his attention to his mentor, who was saying, “...of course, modify them whenever the circumstances call for it. Those are just the base ones.” 

“Well, of course, sir. You’d certainly need more advanced protection for working with something like... lightning charms or ashwinder eggs.”

George turned around, and Scorpius’ breath caught at the crooked grin that was blooming warmly on his face. “Exactly! Though we do try to stay away from the _most_ expensive ingredients, as well as the most lethal. Same with Charms—in fact, it’s harder to modify a lethal charm into a non-lethal one than to temper the effects of most dangerous potions ingredients.” His excitement lit him up like a Christmas tree, fairy lights seeming to dance in his eyes. 

_Oh, FUCK,_ Scorpius thought.

* * *

_Harry never mentioned how mature and attractive he is,_ George mused as he led Scorpius downstairs, past the entries to the second and first floors, to the entry level. It was yet fifteen minutes before opening, and all the staff were here. Quintus and Teddy were making sure the displays were correctly stacked and that the demo models were functioning correctly. At the till, Verity was counting the change available while Andrea recorded the start-of-day till balance. The morning was running smoothly, something that had become so regular that George almost took it for granted. _Almost_. He still remembered when the shop opened after the war, working with only Verity and Harry to help him, gone spare with grief, and unable to run the till and arrange the products, much less do the books or experiment with potential products. He had felt as though all his creativity and competence had died with Fred. 

Verity and Harry had been his, and the shop’s, salvation. Harry and Ron shared the duty of making sure George got out of bed and made it to work, alternating nights spent in the flat above WWW. They had suggested he inaugurate a “Fred*Weasley*Approved” line, of all the products Fred had inspired or helped to create. They had then started to drag him to pub nights with the ’old crowd,’ now made up of young people who had fought You-Know—no, _Voldemort_ , there was no point in fearing the taboo anymore, the monster had died the same day as his twin—young people who had fought Voldemort as either members of the Order of the Phoenix or Dumbledore’s Army, and George had started to relax. He and Angelina had fallen thoughtlessly into a relationship, bonded by their grief and love for Fred, and before he knew it, they’d married and had two children. It had seemed the thing to do, since all their friends and all his siblings were doing it. And he would never, ever, regret the opportunity it had given him to raise Freddie and Roxanne. But Ange was a comfort to George, not a passion, and vice-versa. They’d split as soon as Roxy was off to Hogwarts, and George had ;played the pitch’, as it were, ultimately admitting to himself that he preferred blokes after all. 

So here he was, taking a beautiful young man as his apprentice, and kicking himself both for being a dirty old pervert and for agreeing to mentor a male rather than a female. Or Metamorphmagus: Teddy could do some pretty impressive things with his body. Actually, most of the time it made him more, rather than less, hot. 

_Time to stop that train of thought before it truly leaves the station,_ George thought sardonically. Clearly, it had been too long since he last saw action.

As he led Scorpius down the stairs, George explained what was held on each level of the shop. “The third floor, as you’ve seen, is our lab and office. Now we’re passing the entrance to the Second Floor – that’s our Adult section, and worth a whole day of orientation by itself. It has what you would expect. And now the first floor, for novelty candies, fireworks, stuff that the young people will like.” They climbed down the last few steps to the ground level. “And, of course, the entry – I’m sure you’re well familiar with it; most are. Greeting customers and completing sales takes place down here, and it’s also where we display our least dangerous products. And the Fred*Weasley*Approved line.”

George led Scorpius to the sales counter at the centre of the ground floor.

“Wheezing Wizards!” he called out. The members of his staff looked over at him, rolling their eyes. They mostly failed to appreciate his affectionate collective nicknames. He hoped Scorpius would have a better sense of humour about it. “Wheezing Witches, too! Gather ‘round! We’ve got our new guinea pig!” He noticed Scorpius’ eyes widen a fraction and winked in response, letting the young man know that he’d been caught. _Wonder how much he realises the truth of how we operate yet._

“I’d like the lot of you to meet young Scorpius Malfoy. He will be working at the shop this summer as my apprentice, as all of you ought to have figured out. If you have neither read the _Prophet_ , nor managed to stay awake during our staff meetings for the past month, it’s your own damn fault.”

“We _all_ remember, George,” Teddy said amid chuckles from everybody gathered. 

“Okay. Well, I thought that rather than having me lecture ad nauseum about how we run things around here, you all could claim rights to certain bits of his orientation. So, who feels up to staking the first claim?”

“You mean you—” Andrea cut off her comment as George gave her a tiny shake of his head. 

“I get uniforms and customer relations!” Verity cut in. 

“School-age amusements!” Teddy claimed.

“Lab rules?” said Quintus. 

“Nope. We’ve been over those already. And I’ll also be taking him to the second floor.”

“Aw, c’mon George. Shouldn’t we all be in on his initiation to the secrets that lie on the second floor?” Andrea pouted, as she often did when she thought George was keeping all the fun work for himself. George gave her an implacable look. She sighed. “Okay. Running the till and accounting. That’s why you keep me around.” 

“Okay, so I’ll cover the practical devices,” conceded Quintus at last.

“Great, Quin,” said George. “Now, I want each of you to spend some time with Scorpius today. Scorpius, take some time to get to know your co-workers and their particular interests and responsibilities. You can learn much from each of them, and their specialised expertise will benefit you more than you could know in the future. And folks, just show him the basics today. No need to overwhelm the bloke. He’s smart, and we want his brain to remain functional. That said, no giving him any products that involve Befuddlement Draught, Confusion Infusions, or Confundus Charms. He will likely be trying them later, anyway.” 

The staff nodded. “Good. I want Verity to take him first. Make sure that he knows how to properly greet customers—he’ll be starting customer service tomorrow.”

“Right-o, Boss,” Verity said, giving a shake of her head that seemed to beckon Scorpius towards the stairs again. This was a side-benefit, however, of her forgetting that she had lost a bet to Teddy earlier in the week and had her blond hair shaved off. Hair-tossing was usually a sign of confidence for her, but now it merely looked like a tic. “Follow me, Scorpius, we’re going back up to the lab-office, or office-lab. Whatever you want to call it.”

George watched as Scorpius followed, then, putting a finger over his lips to keep the rest of the staff quiet, Disillusioned himself and put a Silencing Charm on his feet so he could observe them unnoticed, as he had every time a new staff member was initiated by the other employees. He heard Verity explain that the ground floor held school-age amusements and the Fred*Weasley*Approved line, and that the first floor was the home of Magical Comestibles and Practical Devices.

Up in the office-lab, Verity gestured for Scorpius to take a seat on the settee. “Georgie says you aim to be an inventor,” she said.

“I do. I feel like I have a lot of ideas in my head all the time, visions of things I’ve never seen before. I have already adapted or created some spells, and have been experimenting a bit with potions when I have the chance.”

“A good start.” Verity levelled an assessing gaze. “I didn’t have half the ambition you did when I came on board here, not long after the store opened. The store belongs to George, of course, and to his investors, but has been more of a home to me than any flat I’ve ever let. I’ve put a lot of time and sweat into helping make Wheezes what it is. The general hope here is that each member of the staff will be part of the Wheezes family, committing to the long-term good of the project, and contributing both time and imagination. George said that you are here because you want to be a professional inventor. You’ll find that each of us is one. Do ask if you think one of us may have tried something that may contribute to whatever project you’re working on. It’s all about the team effort around here.”

_This is why I keep her around,_ thought George. _She does such good duty as the shop Mum. Stern, yet welcoming._ Plus a fantastic friend, of course. That didn’t hurt.

“Thank you, Verity,” replied Scorpius, returning her stare. Verity did not look away. “George had mentioned that everyone worked together like a family, but hadn’t gone into so much detail about it.”

_Ha. I did mention much about teamwork while doing the lab orientation. I wonder how much of that he actually listened to?_ George was under no illusion that Scorpius’ expression of polite interest earlier that morning had been any sort of focussed absorption. Scorpius had obviously had other things going on behind his facade. _He is a true Slytherin, though,_ George reminded himself. _Asking me to provide him with a written list of rules because “there are so many to remember, and I don’t want to accidentally do something dangerous.” As if the boy would do anything truly dangerous—George could tell he was smarter than that._

“Alright, then.” Verity continued. “The first thing up is your uniform. You may have noticed that each of us wears the same robe, but in a different colour.”

“Er, yes,” Scorpius said, taking in Verity’s own robes, made of a mustard-coloured fabric of indeterminate quality. 

“The concept behind the Wheezes’ uniforms, and you have got to believe I fought Fred and George on this when I came to the shop, is that every customer should be able to tell, no matter where they looked or who they looked at, that nobody here takes anything very seriously. This includes ourselves and our appearances. So none of us gets to choose our own colour.” With that, Verity presented Scorpius with the box containing his new robes. Tied with a ribbon. 

_Clever,_ thought George, as he watched Scorpius pull the bow open and lift the lid off the box, carefully moving aside the tissue. He blanched perceptibly at the robes inside. 

“Pumpkin?” he said weakly. “With fuchsia accents?” 

The robe was indeed pumpkin, with a fuchsia lining that appeared at the collar, cuffs and embroidered WWW logo. Even George, whom employees had often accused of being both colour-blind and tasteless, was horrified. 

“Yep!” said Verity, a little too cheerfully. “Designed to clash with one another, and possibly bring out sallow tones in your skin, though the fuchsia ought to temper that a bit. All-orange would have looked even worse.” 

Scorpius nodded. 

“Now, all of our robes have Protective Charms on the threads that were woven into the fabric—we have each one custom-made. They are charmed to resist most mundane and magical fire, and punctures. They siphon spilled potions into a special pouch—though you do need to empty and clean the pouch very soon after it’s been used, otherwise you risk mixing dangerous potions together. The robes have a permanent _Protego_ , standard, though this is cast at the end, rather than woven into the fabric. It’s also possible to apply extra wards to the robes as needed. They will not ever hold a stain if you cast a _Lavare_ charm within a half hour of soiling. They truly are state-of-the-art, more protective, even, than those most Potions Masters and Aurors use.”

“ _Wow,_ “ Scorpius whispered, finally impressed. 

“Well, we lot are likely to get mixed up in accidents more than your average Potions Master or Auror, both in our experiments and in the shop as customers try things out without following the signs that say ‘Please ask for assistance.’” Verity harrumphed. “Really, you would think that after committing or witnessing one accident, a customer would learn to be careful and ask for help, but the ones who misuse our products once are the ones most likely to misuse our products again. We need to keep an especial eye on them, so that we can keep the rest of the shop’s inhabitants safe, but also so that we can prevent them from trying to purchase anything too dangerous. We have a list of ‘troublesome customers,’ and each has his—almost always his, why are men so hard-headed?—restrictions listed. But it does mean that we need to _know_ our customers. Each of them.”

“I’d imagine. I hadn’t thought...that it took so much work to keep things running smoothly.”

“Oh, love, you don’t even know the half of it. Okay. So customer relations is one of the most important aspects of working here, no matter what you are hired to do specifically. Every single customer should be greeted by a staff person, by name if you know it, and with a request for a name if you don’t.”

“I’m supposed to walk up to strangers and ask their names?” Scorpius asked, confused. George imagined that in the Malfoy social scene, one usually needed to wait for a formal introduction before approaching another person. 

“Well, as time goes by, you’ll get to know most of the people who come in—most of our customers are regulars, especially in the summer months, what with the students being out of Hogwarts. So a greeting would be more like, ‘Hi, Stu! How’s it going? Is there anything I can help you with today?’ With customers you don’t yet know, you would walk up to them, offer your hand, and say something like, ‘Welcome to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. My name is Scorpius. What’s yours?’ And when you’ve got it, you then ask, ‘Well, Stu, is there anything I can do to help you today?’ See? Simple.”

“In theory, yes,” Scorpius retorted, “but doesn’t this annoy customers? Don’t they want to be left alone to shop? It’s not like you, I mean we, are offering personal shoppers or concierge service.” 

“Well, no, but our customers tend to be informal types, anyway. And we do want to make sure that one of us is present when somebody tries out the demo model of any of our products—and this is easier to do if we’ve already established a relationship with them.”

“Are there demo models for all Wheezes products?”

“Many of them, but not all, not by a long shot. However, customers are free to request a demonstration of any product that interests them...”

* * *

Scorpius arrived exactly on time on his second day, his new Wheezes robes on a hanger and hung over his arm. There was no way he was going to let his parents see him in them; Papa would certainly point, laugh, and tell him that it was well enough that he was going into a field that required no fashion sense at all. Maman, on the other hand, would sputter and attempt to follow him to the shop so that she could excoriate whoever had inflicted these dreadful robes on her son. 

Yes. Better to keep the robes at work, actually. He could take them home on the weekends for the house-elves to wash, and make do with cleaning spells as needed during the week. 

Not seeing George as he climbed out of the Floo, Scorpius slid the robes over his day clothes and walked down to the ground floor. Today, he was supposed to spend the first hour greeting customers with Quintus, and then the rest of the day with Andrea and Teddy, working the till. He suspected it would be drudge work, not fun in the least, but he also knew that if he ever wanted to open his own shop, he would need these skills. 

Andrea burst into laughter as she saw Scorpius walk in. “The – the – your _robes_!” she wheezed out, unable to catch her breath. Verity, Teddy and Quintus turned around just as the blush was creeping across Scorpius’ face to his ears, and joined in the laughter, making him redden even more. 

“At least you weren’t a fashion plate to begin with!” howled Quintus, causing another round of raucous laughter. 

Scorpius was insulted. “Hey, what do you know?”

George picked that moment to enter the display room. “What’s all the laughter --? Oh. _Scorpius_. Those robes are _perfect_. Verity, you really knocked yourself out with these.”

“Thanks, Boss.”

“Well, mate, you weren’t exactly the king of style yesterday, were you?” Quintus jumped back into the fray. “Not to mention,I remember seeing you around at Hogwarts; I have no recollection of you being the vain type, and believe me, I noticed those.”

“I turn out okay!” 

“Scorpius,” George said, “I was at Hogwarts with your dad. Now _he_ was a fashion-conscious bloke.” 

Scorpius sniffed and turned away, rather than concede the point. 

“Oh, now, don’t be like that,” Quintus said, following him. “We all take the mickey sometimes, and are sometimes the ones to have to bear it. Buck up. You can’t be pouting when we’re greeting customers, can you?”

Cajoling. Not laying on a guilt trip, but cajoling him as if he were a recalcitrant schoolboy. _Which I suppose I am,_ admitted Scorpius to himself. _Though I suppose I’m acting more like I’m in primary school than like I’m about to finish at Hogwarts._

“Right, sorry.” Scorpius paused. “You and I will be working on greeting as the store opens, then?” It wasn’t so much a question as a way of moving the conversation away from his attire. 

“Right. George told you that we’ve got to make full introductions, right?”

“Verity did. And we also ask whether they would like help, ask how they are, and so on.”

“Perfect. Why don’t you see how I do it with the first couple of customers, and then you can do some yourself with me watching and giving you pointers between, and then we can both greet as needed.”

Scorpius sighed with relief. He had been dreading getting thrown into the fray, so to speak, and was glad to know that he could observe a bit, first. Also that Quintus seemed relatively organised. Organisation was good; it meant that he could get his bearings more easily. 

Quin cast a quick _Tempus_. “Two minutes to opening, mate. How’s about we get over by the entrance?”

They moved towards the entrance, and Quin took out a set of keys. “The senior staffer on greeting duty is responsible for opening the doors. We do, of course, have locking spells and wards up, but George noticed long ago that Wizards tend not to consider that Muggles can create anything quite so useful as manual locks, so we’ve got them.”

“Yeah,” called George from behind the till, where he’d been pretending to speak with Andrea. “Fred and I once rescued Harry Potter from his Muggle relatives by picking the lock on his bedroom door. Dead useful, knowing about locks is.” 

While Scorpius was digesting that ( _Al’s dad needed to be rescued from his Muggle relatives?_ ), Quin unlocked the door with the key, and then dismantled the locking and security wards. “You catch those incantations, Score?” 

Scorpius started. “Er, no, not quite. Does it matter, though? Since I’ll never be the senior staff?” 

“At some point you might be the _only_ staff opening or closing.” Quintus released a sigh of mock-frustration. “I’ll have to write them down, then. Just remember, these are top secret. You’ll need to read them and then eat the parchment, yeah?”

“Yeah...” Scorpius said, in minor disbelief. Then again, his father had taught him the wards at the Manor from memory, and had never given him the incantations in written form. Instead, he’d walked Scorpius through the incantations and wand movements until he was sure that Scorpius would be able to complete them on his own. 

With the wards down and the doors flung open, Score and Quin were ready to greet the first patrons of the day. Scorpius pasted a smile on his face. As the first customer entered, Quintus stepped in his path,

“Hallo! Welcome to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes! My name is Quin, what’s yours?”

“You know who I am, Quin. How ya doin’ today? What’s with the formal greeting?”

“Just showing the new bloke the ropes. Scorpius, this is Lee Jordan, one of George’s oldest friends.”

“Good to meet you, sir.”

“Please, call me Lee. And you’re the young Mr Malfoy, eh? Well, good luck here. I hope they don’t ride you _too_ hard. And that you learn all that you want,” Lee said. “I’ll go find George, shall I?” he said, and walked off. 

“Okay, that wasn’t the best example,” Quintus said. “Let’s see who’s next.”

“Hel-lo!” Quintus greeted the next entrant, a young woman with shiny black hair and a pert nose. “My name is Quin. What’s yours?” 

“Er, Marcella. Why do you ask?”

“We want everyone here to feel like family. So, Marcella, is there anything I can help you with today?” 

“Not at the minute; I just want to look around a bit,” she responded.

“Alright, Marcella. Be sure to ask any of us in these ugly robes to help you if you have questions or want to try something out.”

“Right. Thanks,” she said, and walked off. 

As soon as she was reasonably out of earshot, Quintus let out a low whistle. “Now _that’s_ an attractive bird,” he said. 

“I suppose,” responded Scorpius, non-commitally. 

“You think you’re up to greeting, yet?”

Scorpius felt his face warm a little. “I suppose there’s no way for me to get _more_ ready,” he said. 

“Excellent!” exclaimed Quin. “Well, your first customer is coming up!” He was right: a young man was approaching the steps of the shop. 

As he crossed the threshold, Scorpius thrust out his hand. “Good morning! Welcome to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. My name’s Scorpius, what’s yours?”

“I know who you are, Malfoy. I’m only a year behind you, after all.” The young man sighed. “But I suppose you haven’t had the inclination to learn the names of anyone outside your own House. Elijah Brocklehurst. Ravenclaw House.”

“Well, it’s good to make your acquaintance, Brocklehurst. Would you like help finding anything this morning?”

“No.” Elijah Brocklehurst clearly wasn’t at the shop for social reasons. 

“Alright,” said Scorpius. “Please do let one of us know if you’d like assistance or want to try something out. All the staff are wearing – “

“Those hideous clashing robes. I know. Thanks.” And Brocklehurst swiftly made his way toward the stairs, hopefully aiming for the First Floor. Scorpius shuddered to think of such a sour person having sexual relations with anybody. 

“That was a good first try,” Quintus said, breaking into Scorpius’ thought-stream. “Often you’ll get those who are not too friendly, or don’t want to be bothered. That’ll be particularly true amongst your peers, by the way.”

Scorpius hummed in response. 

“You’ll take the next one, too?” Quin asked. 

“Yes, that’s what we agreed, isn’t it?” Scorpius asked, slightly confused. 

Quin looked at him. “Well, you seemed a little flustered by little Elijah there. So I’m giving you the option.”

“Oh. No, Papa always said you have to hop right back on the broomstick.”

“Right-o. Well, here comes your second chance,” Quintus nodded at a woman with two children who looked too young for Hogwarts, but old enough to understand how they could use Wheezes to make trouble. The mother looked harried. 

“Hello, all! Welcome to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. My name is Scorpius – what are yours?” he asked as he crouched down to look the children in the eyes.

“I’m Caryn Sweeney,” said the older one, sticking her nose in the air. “I go to Hogwarts in two years.”

“Good for you, Caryn. And you, little man?” he addressed the younger, who was half-hidden behind his sister. 

“Fabian,” he muttered. 

“Hello, Fabian. And you must be the Mrs Sweeney, am I right?” Scorpius turned his attention to the woman. 

She sighed. “Yes, yes. I promised them Wheezes if they behaved themselves at the bank.” 

“Alright, Mrs Sweeney. Is there anything you had in mind for your youngsters?” Scorpius remembered how he used to run wild in shops like this unless his Maman or Papa restricted him to one area.

“Fred*Weasley*Approved gags, at least at first. And perhaps some of the School Age Amusements geared towards the pre-Hogwarts crowd.”

“Well you’re in luck, as those are both right here on the ground floor. Do let us know if you need _any_ assistance, or if you, Caryn and Fabian, want to try anything out before buying.”

“Say thank you, kids,” Mrs Sweeney said, nodding her own thanks at Scorpius.

“Thank-you,” Fabian and Caryn sing-songed. 

“You’re welcome. And have fun!” Scorpius said as they walked further into the shop.

Quin stared at him. “What?” asked Scorpius, fluttering his eyelashes just to see what would happen.

“Oh, dear Merlin, you were having all of us _on_ with that nervousness about approaching people, weren’t you?”

“Not entirely; I’m not fond of talking to strangers, but I can do it. And after helping my Aunt Daphne wrangle my two cousins, I can read a situation like that one.” 

“Well, that was perfect, there. You’re a natural.” 

Scorpius took a little bow. “Now, you think we should start dividing and conquering? It looks like the crowds in the Alley are thickening, which can only mean that we’ll be getting an onslaught soon.”

“Sure, Scorpius. That’ll be the plan, then.”

* * *

George watched from the School Age Supplies area, amused, as Scorpius smoothly greeted the customers, directing them to the appropriate places in the shop and sending them off with Quin when they were looking for something specific. _He’s a charmer and a natural leader, that one,_ George mused, _and so Slytherin to lower all our expectations the way he did._

_He would certainly be an asset to our permanent staff._

Of course, that was probably out of the question. After all, Scorpius hadn’t come here to learn how to be a shop clerk; he’d come to gain more experience in inventing, and to learn how to register his inventions, market them, and make business connections. Not to mention the fact that George desperately wanted to shag ( _No! Not shag! Snog! No!_ Mentor _, dammit!_ ) him. The employer-employee relationship wasn’t necessarily conducive to true collegiality, much less romance. And George wanted romance. He wanted to sweep Scorpius off his feet, debate magical theory, and invent things with him. Back him up against the wall while kissing him hard...

George wanted a lot of things, and they’d be easier to get if he and Scorpius could approach one another as relative equals. 

He finished organising the display of Missy Wonder Witch products and checked the time. Scorpius was doing a bang-up job at greeting. George walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Oi, wonder boy. You’ve done great here. Now it’s time to see if you’ll do great _there_ ,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the till.

“Of course, George. Andrea said that she had a whole plan worked out.”

“Ah, good. Then you’ll be a master at that, too.”

And, looking relatively confident, Scorpius went to learn how to work the till.

* * *

> Dear Scorpius—
> 
> Well, she’s more brusque than I thought, and not taking any lip. It seems like Ms Skeeter (yeah, I need to call her by her _proper_ title... she wanted me to call her “Mistress” Skeeter, but ugh! That was  not on. I was honest and told her that ‘Mistress’ had a sort of different meaning to young men). Oh. Where was I? Well, Ms Skeeter is a lot less syrupy than Dad had said, though that may be her “out to interview” persona—she says that one of the things a reporter has to cultivate is a repertory of different personalities and tones so as to connect with different types of people. She also said that one of the things to do is to keep my eyes and ears open at all times, and try to be at places where “things might happen.” 
> 
> I, of course, did not bring up the weeks that Aunt Hermione said she had kept Rita Skeeter in a jar after finding her in bug form.
> 
> So far, I’m at the office all the time, and she’s been showing me how the editing and publication processes work. Yawn. But I expect she’ll start having me go on interviews with her soon. Until then, when she’s not there I get to copy-edit her articles, the articles of anyone else she tells me to, and fetch tea and coffee, and sometimes biscuits or sandwiches, for whoever is supervising me at any given moment. 
> 
> Not as bad as I thought, but really not what I was hoping for, either. 
> 
> How’s working for Uncle George?
> 
> —Al

* * *

“I got an owl from Albus last night,” Scorpius said as he arrived to start his second week at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. “He seems to be holding up well, though obviously not thrilled with responsibilities like fetching tea.” 

“They have him fetching tea?” George responded, looking up from his desk. “I suppose he can’t really contribute writing yet. The kid’s a real trooper, though. He’ll do alright.” 

“Yeah,” agreed Scorpius. “So, what’s on the docket today? Do I get to go to the mysterious Second Floor yet?” 

“Actually, yes, and we’re going to start that right away. The others want to see your reaction when you enter.” 

By his second day at Wheezes, of course, Scorpius had figured out that the second floor was where ‘adult novelties’ were sold. Some of them were items spelled to ensure accuracy in writing and calculation (and therefore good for work, but not for school), but most were what the old-fashioned might call ‘marital aids.’ That is, sex toys and potions. 

Scorpius wondered whether the rule of ‘try everything in the store’ that Teddy and Quintus had mentioned applied to this floor, too. He followed George down one level. 

Gathered on the landing outside the door to the display area were Andrea, Quintus, Verity and Teddy. Each was wearing an expression that could only be called wolf-like. In fact, Teddy’s face seemed to have elongated to a snout. 

“Now we get to see how the young one fares! And if he can even get in!” chortled Quintus. Had his voice been any higher, it would have been a giggle. Scorpius suddenly had a bad feeling about this. What would be so humiliating?

“Quintus—and the rest of you!—simmer down. This is _not_ meant to be mock Scorpius time,” George admonished the group. 

“Now, Scorpius. Before we can show you what we keep in there, I need to ask you whether you are of age yet.”

“Yes. As of April.”

“Good. So we won’t have to worry about you being forbidden access.”

“Er, what?” 

“Never mind.” George turned the knob and walked through the door, beckoning Scorpius to follow. Scorpius shrugged, and walked through the door. As he passed the threshold, he felt a slight tremor, like a physical shimmer, pass through his forehead and muscles, particularly in his feet and legs. 

“What—”

“The room is protected by an Age Line. Underage wizards and witches are tossed out on their cute little arses. And grow nice long beards for their trouble. Fortunately, we put up a sign about such when we expect large numbers of young people. And most magical families do let their children know that if something says ‘Adults Only,’ then an underage wizard would be quite the fool to attempt entry.”

“But...how does it work?”

George burst into laughter. “Alright, you lot! I think that was probably worth the trip upstairs, even if his chin is still whisker-free. We have quite the swot here—asking about the Age Line rather than the sex toys! _Now_ you can feel free to mock him mercilessly in the afternoon. I’ll spend the next hour or two getting young Scorpius orientated towards what he needs to know to show customers around up here.” 

Having dismissed the rest of the staff, George turned to Scorpius. “The Age Line is based on one that was used when I was at Hogwarts to ensure that only wizards who were of age attempted to enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament. When I started expanding the adult line for the store and selling them here rather than by catalogue, I researched some of the magic, and asked Professor McGonagall what she recalled about the spell involved. It involves a charm for the expulsion and a potion for the beard. I had to re-invent the potion, though, since she didn’t know what was in it, and Severus Snape has been dead since the Second War....” A look of grief passed George’s face. _That’s right,_ thought Scorpius, George’s twin also died in the Battle of Hogwarts. “Anyway,” George continued, “when we were in sixth-year, Fred and I tried to get by the Age Line to put our names into the Goblet of Fire by means of an aging potion, but the line could tell that it was temporary, or artificially induced, or something, threw us out, and gave us beards, which lasted for about a day. We thought it was one of the more brilliant wards we’d seen, and so when I started experimenting with sexy products, I called the Professor for the information to set one up here. And then experimented and experimented until I got it right.”

“It felt like it was...making my brain and my legs vibrate,” Scorpius noted. 

“Really? I think it has different effects on everyone. I, myself, feel a coolness wash over me. Most people don’t even notice, since it’s so mild and they’re really in a hurry to get to the good stuff. But what it does is extract the age your mind knows you to be, and if you’re under 17, uses that knowledge to trigger your legs into jumping back. And, of course, the potion is triggered when one’s foot skids backwards past the Age Line again. Pretty ingenious, if I do say so myself.” 

Scorpius was floored. Most of the items for sale downstairs were charmed objects or potions to do silly things like make your feet three times bigger. Not to mention the Skiving Snackboxes and Coolflame-Breathing SalamandersTM. But those were very basic things – Scorpius knew it wasn’t hard to place a permanent charm on an object, though he wasn’t yet sure how to do that himself. And the potions only needed to do one thing. This Age Line used complicated spellwork _and_ an incredibly complex potion that together affected the body and mind. 

“That’s amazing, George. I knew you were smart, but that potion... it’s _diabolically_ ingenious. How do you get it to do two things?”

“It’s really not as hard as you might think; you just need to keep the brewing going so that the two characteristics don’t fight one another, and make sure that you don’t use any ingredients that will blow each other up. Oh, and take into account that in combination potions, if an ingredient is used for two things, you only need about seventy-five percent of the amount you would use when making two separate potions, and at least one incantation... Blimey, it _is_ complicated, isn’t it?”

“Do you realise that I just learned more theory from you in the last minute than I learned in my entire sixth-year Potions curriculum?” 

“Well, combination effects aren’t NEWT-level, they’re Mastery-level.”

“Do you have a Potions Mastery?” Scorpius asked. His estimation of George was rising by the second, as was his attraction: George had a way of wrinkling his nose and biting his lower lip while thinking that made Scorpius want to reach out and stroke, or kiss. _No, no, no! He’s older than my_ parents _, and besides, the contract said that there should be no impropriety between Mentor and student...._

“Nah,” George replied, his expression open and eyes laughing. “Didn’t even finish my NEWT year. Just learned things as I needed to learn them, and kept on the good side of several people who were either masters of their craft or had extensive libraries. Turns out I’m a bit of an autodidact.” 

“And here I was, thinking that the gruff exterior and gift for pranks was all there was to you. Turns out you’re not only a magical genius, but one who can use the word ‘autodidact.’” Scorpius looked up, smiling, and saw George duck his head, his cheeks pinking at the compliment. 

“Well,” George said, a bit breathless from repressed laughter, “just goes to show that there’s always more than meets the eye around here. That’s true for the staff as well as the products—and yes, there _is_ always more than meets the eye to the products!”

“Is that my cue to start looking around here?” Scorpius asked, scanning the room for the first time since he’d entered.

“Not quite yet. First, I want to talk to you about how the Adult section functions. 

“First of all, we have a coin in a wrist pocket of each of our robes. These coins warm up—not enough to burn, but enough to be noticed—any time someone who isn’t wearing one steps on the first step between the First and Second Floors. We generally don’t get much business up here, so we don’t staff it unless someone is looking. Now, when the coin heats up, it will also display the face of the person entering the room, so we can tell if it’s a man or a woman. This is important; unless the customer asks otherwise, we want Andrea and Verity to assist women customers and heterosexual couples, and one of us men to assist the blokes.”

“Coins?” Scorpius asked, checking his cuff for his own.

“It’s a throwback to my days in Dumbledore’s Army—they’re how we used to keep track of meetings. They’ve got a variation of the _Protean_ charm on them. Really simple, except for automating the picture-taking and transference.”

Scorpius felt his mouth fall open. He shut it quickly. 

“Anyway,” George continued, “we want customers, particularly women, to be assisted by someone of their gender. This is not only because some women get uncomfortable talking about sex with strange men, but because, well, like all of our products, we need to have tried everything we recommend.” 

“You mean I’ll need to try out all the stuff men can use?” 

“No, not all of it. In fact, if you do not want to staff this room at all, you don’t have to. Most of the staff, though, finds it a grand time. But except for Verity, who helped me make the decision to _start_ the Adult line, I have asked every employee about their comfort with such things during the interview. We do all need to be available, since if there’s only one who is, and he or she is tending to another customer or has the day off, there would be no-one to staff the room. In any event, there was no interview for the apprenticeship thing, and even so, I’d feel bad forcing a student in my care to do things sex-related.” George blushed, getting redder as he continued. “I mean, I don’t force sex-related things on anybody, and students and sex don’t go together, and I really just meant—” 

“Whoa, George—it’s okay. I understood perfectly.” _Though I can’t say I’d necessarily_ mind _if this particular man were to force something sex-related on me...._

George huffed with relief. “Good. Erm, so yeah. You aren’t required to work up here if you don’t want. And if you _do_ want, and don’t know the answer to a question or something, you just need to tap the coin and say the name of the person whose expertise you think would be useful.”

“Wicked,” Scorpius said, smirking. “This’ll be fun.”

* * *

George that smirk, and wondered if he knew how the DA had come to use the _Protean_ charm—if he knew that it was inspired by how Voldemort had used his Dark Mark. From the look in his eyes, he seemed to think that _George_ had thought it up. But no, it was all ‘Mione back in those days. He hadn’t learned the value of research rather than mere experimentation until the second year the store was open, the year of Potterwatch and worrying about his little brother. 

_Not good to get caught in that time either, mate,_ he told himself, and turned again to his young apprentice. 

“So, do you want to learn about the products up here?” 

“Of course!” said Scorpius. 

“Alright, then. We’ve got toys to please women—mostly things that vibrate, books that draw you into exploring the fantasy inside, specialised lingerie, women’s fragrances, genital and nipple jewellery, and the like over in that corner. Toys and specialised garments for men are in the next corner clockwise. In the centre of the room are three tables: one for fantasy potions and charms (some of which are based on the Patented Daydream Charm), one for benign things like Faerie Dust, massage oils, and other things couples can apply to one another to enhance their experience, and one for games and toys couples can play with together if they decide they want to ‘spice up the nightlife’ but don’t have much imagination between them. Our collection of Magical and Muggle pornography is over on the back wall. And finally, _this_ wall,” and George extended his arm towards an entire wall with several tables displaying Magical and Muggle instruments of torture, discipline, and bondage, “has items for those who come looking for something a bit more...intense.”

“You mean kinky?” George looked at Scorpius, who looked to be _feigning ignorance_ , the bratty Slytherin! While his eyes were wide, they were starting to glaze, and Scorpius definitely had a tinge to his cheeks and had licked his lips, besides! _I’m going to spend the rest of the month suppressing my desire, aren’t I?_ thought George. 

“Er, yes. Kinky. What do you know about that?” 

“You’d be surprised what I know. I actually earned my nickname,” Scorpius said. 

“You hadn’t mentioned a nickname,” George said, looking put out. 

Scorpius pinked again. “Well, Quin started using it on his own around here, so I thought it would get around. And I can imagine the hazing I’d get if everyone else were to know that the Slytherin boys call me ‘Score.’ I think they just do that because they wish they were slags, but haven’t the bollocks to approach anyone who interests them.” He looked away, unsurprisingly turning his attention to the table of potions. “Say, do you happen to have a Confidence Potion for the terminally virginal?”

George couldn’t choke back his laughter any more. “Okay, okay! No—no confidence potion, but perhaps we can work on one, a variation of _Felix Felicis_ , perhaps.” He paused, letting his laughter subside. “So I gather that you have some...experience in sexual matters. Good. Do you have anyone with whom you can try items out? A steady girl, perhaps?”

Scorpius looked back, a bit coolly. “Never a girl. But no steady boyfriend, either. I’m entirely unattached at the mo’.” 

“Well, that’s good. Er, no! I meant, That’s inconvenient! Because you won’t have anyone to try our products out with!” 

“I’m sure I’ll work something out. I can be incredibly creative.”

George gave up on concealing his embarrassment and groaned. “I’m sure you can be. I know that I usually am as well, when I don’t have a regular sex partner.” 

“I’d heard from Albus that you and Mrs Weasley had got divorced.”

“Ms Johnson again, and yes.”

“May I ask—”

“Why? Er, well let’s just say that I have no steady boyfriend at the mo’, either.” George ducked his head to his right shoulder, his face burning.

“Oh!” Scorpius paused, and George could feel him assessing, but was startled by the next question. “Can you hear at all in that ear?” 

“A bit, if the sound is coming directly at it. My eardrum wasn’t burst, but it turns out that you need the rest of your ear to funnel sound in and help give it character. There’s not much differentiation in timbre; everything that makes it in seems rather echo-y and metallic. And the ear misses a lot.” 

“Huh. Have you ever thought of trying a prosthesis or something?”

“I went to St. Mungo’s right after the injury, but they couldn’t reattach the ear itself, and they didn’t have anything like a prosthetic for the outside portions of the ear by itself. And the Prosthesis with Auditory Replacement Charm they tried to use didn’t help so much and made my earhole burn a bit. So I figured I’d finally give the public a way to tell me and Fred apart, and kept it as a hole in my head.” 

“I guess finding a good replacement would be like driving a hole in one, wouldn’t it?” 

George groaned again, this time at the terrible pun. He shook his head. “You know, not even Verity makes light of the hole. The only one who ever did that with me was Fred.” 

“It must be so sad, and weird, having lost your twin. I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I’m bringing up too many bad memories, too.” Scorpius’ face was serious. 

“It must be weird, being an only child,” George retorted. “I can’t imagine it at all. _That_ seems sad to me. And no, I have mostly made peace with the fact that I’ll not see Fred again until my own journey to the great railway station in the sky.”

“Odd way of putting it,” replied Scorpius. “And I don’t know about having siblings. I have always had what I need, without conflict from anyone in my family unless what I wanted was wholly inappropriate. And my Papa was always really good at making sure that I spent time almost every day with other children. It’s how I got to be friends with Albus Severus.”

George remembered. Hadn’t _that_ been a surprise, when Draco Malfoy had contacted Harry to ask whether their toddler-sons could have regular play-dates. And Harry never _could_ say no, especially where children were concerned.

“Getting back to the topic of the minute, though,” he continued, “if you want to work up here, you’ll have to try out as many of the toys, games and potions as you can. That’s why I asked about a partner; some of the stuff is much more fun to use if you’ve got someone to share it with. I remember trying out a lot of the items with Ange, and then after the divorce, Verity stepped in as the female test subject...well, she’d already been doing all the solo-female testing. But that was a bit weird. And, of course, I’ve tried stuff out with various men I’ve dated, and asked my brothers to give me reports on anything I wasn’t able to try or didn’t want to try myself.”

* * *

Scorpius saw his chance. He modulated his voice so that it sounded a little nervous, a little humble, a little lower and smokier. “Would you, er, be willing to be for me what Verity was for you?” He peered up through his eyelashes, knowing _exactly_ how demure and appealing he looked to the average gay male when he did so. 

George looked gobsmacked, and took a couple steps backward. “Did you miss how I said it was _weird_ with Verity? It wasn’t the het factor, it was the _co-workers_ factor. Not to mention that our apprenticeship contract explicitly states that there shall be _no fraternisation between Mentor and Apprentice_. No. No.” But Scorpius thought he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. 

“Alright,” he sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to see how I do on my own, and if necessary invite some cute bloke from school over to the Manor on my day off.” 

He thought George looked appropriately envious.


	3. Potions

> 10th July
> 
> Dear Albus,
> 
> Glad to hear you’re still alive, and that the harridan isn’t doing anything too horrid with you. Has she not asked about your family, or did you cut her down to size the first time she did?
> 
> Yes. I know that usually I’m the one who keeps in better touch, and no, George isn’t running me quite ragged, but it is busy here. And virtually none of my work has me hanging around regular old quill and parchment, so it’s not like I can just jot something down without it being too obvious that I was skiving off. I know, skiving off from working for the bloke who invented Skiving Snackboxes... Which, I think, shall have a new flavour soon... it’s one of the projects I’m working on. 
> 
> Still haven’t seen what needs to happen when an invention is complete because, well, we haven’t got anything at that stage yet. I just hope that we get to do that before 31st July rolls about....

* * *

“Alright, Scorpius. I’m almost done with this potion; I’d like your help with the final steps. But first, what do you notice about it?”

Scorpius approached the cauldron. There seemed to be smoke wafting from it, and when he drew near, he could smell something like spices and lavender. The mixture inside seemed to be congealing into a goo of some sort as it cooled, and was the colour of an aubergine. 

“It has a rather strong but pleasant aroma, and is not retaining its liquid state. It’s also a very deep purple, but I’m not sure what that means, precisely, in this case. What’s it supposed to do?”

“Let’s see if you can guess. I’m calling it Canens’ Incense.” 

“You’re supposed to _burn_ this?” 

“That’s how you activate it, yes.”

“And Canens... It’s something to do with dogs?” Scorpius asked, knowing it wasn’t quite right, but unfamiliar with the word from his study of magical Latin.

George laughed. “Did it smell like dog to you?”

“No,” he responded, and felt his face heat. _Well, I just made a great fool of myself. Why would something involved with dogs smell so lovely?_

“Well, it was a pretty good guess anyway. But no. Canens was a nymph-goddess in ancient Rome, which is why the name sounds Latin. She was known both for her great beauty and for her exquisite singing voice, which was most famously used to grieve her lover. He’d been turned into a woodpecker by Circe. I think.”

“So it’s some sort of singing potion?”

“Yep! Canens’ Incense will, when inhaled, induce someone to sing rather than speak. The length of effect, I think, should vary depending on how long a person spends breathing it. What we need to do today is finish making it into incense cones and then burn one to see how it works, whether there are any side effects, and so on.”

“ _We_?” squeaked Scorpius.

“I did tell you that we test everything on ourselves. We work in pairs, one using the potion, one recording the results. Which do you want to do?”

“Record, definitely record.” 

“Alright. You’ll record first, and then we’ll switch up. Because one, this is a fairly innocuous potion to have as your first one for Wheezes, and two, we actually do need a sample size greater than one. We’ll be having the others pair up to try it as the day goes on, and assuming we don’t need to make major adjustments and do another day of testing, we’ll go off to get the patent registered tomorrow.”

Scorpius brightened at that. “Fantastic! I’m still a little nervous, though.”

“Well, let’s talk about it first, then. Can you recite the basic principles of inhalation potions?”

“They must be smoke or vapour. They must have absolutely no caustic ingredients, nor combustible ones. One must always use them with an antidote nearby—do we have an antidote yet?”

“For the moment, we’ll use a bezoar, though I doubt we’ll need it. Continue,” George said. 

“Upon achieving the desired effect, the area must be ventilated to dissipate any remaining airborne potion. The ingredients must be harmonious, and not struggle against one another. It has to remain stable as a liquid or solid for storage, but be easy to convert into gas. Storage can use pressure, cooling charms, or—I guess—drying out into something to be burned?”

“Yes. Anything else?”

“Um, we have to be very careful about making sure that individual users are not allergic to any ingredients, which means not using common allergens—”

“We should never use common allergens here, anyway.”

“—right. And I guess that, er, recreational inhalation potions should smell nice.”

“Good thinking. Can you imagine why I would choose inhalation for the delivery over swallowing?”

“No. Wouldn’t swallowing get more of the potion closer?”

George looked exasperated. “You see, this is why there ought to be a wizard anatomy class at Hogwarts, taught with all the other courses. How are people supposed to make common potions if they don’t understand how the body works? And transfiguration... God, people attempt human transfiguration all the time without actually understanding what needs to remain the same and how the body can be adapted. It’s a miracle more idiots don’t accidentally kill themselves, playing with magic.”

Scorpius stared. George sounded much like the portrait his Papa had of Severus Snape, Papa’s godfather and the former Potions Master at Hogwarts.

“George, are you going to start talking about children being dunderheads?” Scorpius asked. 

“What?”

“You sound like Professor Snape’s portrait.” 

There was no other way to describe it: George _cackled_. He cackled uncontrollably, bending over to catch his breath and wheezing for several moments before he gasped to Scorpius, “Merlin’s beard, I did, didn’t I? Ronnikins would be so disappointed in me...” and kept on laughing. When he finally calmed down, he said, “Scorpius, the next time you see Severus, _please_ tell him that. Whatever it was that made you think I sounded like him. And I want you to Pensieve the memory so that I can see the look on his face...”

“Er, okay. I don’t quite see what’s so funny, though.”

“I had Professor Snape for Potions, and then went to work for the Order after leaving Hogwarts. He didn’t think much of Fred and me for quitting school before our NEWTS, especially since we were both on our way to getting at least an E in the Potions NEWT, probably an O... Anyway, he had a reputation for disliking Gryffindors, and er, we were the most Gryffindorish of them all. Fred and I were downright hooligans, and we rarely ever got caught. We never made a ruckus in the Potions classroom, though. Both of us had listened carefully both to his first lecture about brewing glory, bottling fame and so on, and to his second lecture, on safety in the lab. So, no distracting other students or blowing things up in his class. He did, however, catch us making trouble a few other times, took points, and sent us to detention with Filch. 

“We learned so much from the great bat, though. He was truly a potions genius, and also a damned good instructor, if you could look past the bitter, nasty, vindictive personality.” 

Scorpius nodded. “So he would be gobsmacked that you’ve turned into a rule-enforcer?”

“Something like that.” George paused. “Now, where were we? Yes. Why the potion needs to be inhaled, not drunk. It’s simple physiology. You sing from your diaphragm, lungs and vocal box, not from your stomach and oesophagus. So you need the potion to come into contact with your voice-producing parts. Most potions are too diluted to affect the respiratory system by the time they’ve been metabolised.”

Scorpius looked down, feeling like a total prat. 

“Hey, no self-pity here. You won’t ever forget it again, yeah? And you also remembered all the other major details about inhalation potions.” George smiled at Scorpius, sending the younger man’s brains and blood downward. He took a deep breath to re-centre himself. 

“Right. So you made an inhalation potion that will make the user sing.” 

“Yes. Singing will be the only way to communicate probably for a half-hour or so after a couple of deep breaths. Come with me, we need to take the goo to the worktable and start moulding it into cones so they’ll fit in the incense burners.”

As they worked on shaping the incense, George explained what the process of making the potion had been. Unlike most potions, it had a water base so that it could dry out. He used powdered clay from the Tiber River, where Canens had drowned, and ground it together in a mortar with laurel leaves to represent the forest where she’d sought her love. The water received lavender honey first, and dried and ground lavender blossoms as well, before the clay and laurel mixture was added. Next came mallowsweet and ground anise. And finally cumin, though for the life of him, Scorpius couldn’t understand why. Finally, George had cast _Sonorus_ on the mixture before reducing it in the cauldron to the paste they now handled.

“I’m always amazed,” Scorpius commented, “that such simple ingredients can make such cool potions.” 

“Well, the clay and laurels may look mundane, but we’re talking about magical mud and leaves here. And the honey and lavender have some unusual properties—clarity of thought and speech, for instance—when used together.”

“And the cumin?” Scorpius asked, not able to take the suspense any longer. 

“Oh, I find that it’s a particularly effective spice for overriding inhibitions. We always add some inhibition-lowering ingredient to our joke potions; it makes the effects funnier to witness. Jalapeno is even better, but it wouldn’t go well with the clay. Or the singing, for that matter. Alright. It looks like these are about done, and ready to dry. But I think it’s fine if I burn one now; it’ll dry out from the heat and then burn. Sound like a plan?”

“I reckon it does,” Scorpius said, and took up a sheet of parchment and his quill as George lit the incense cone and inhaled deeply before covering it and fanning the smoke away from Scorpius. 

He spent the next hour trying to ignore his erection as he first listened to George’s baritone discoursing on the mischief he’d managed at Hogwarts, and then sang about his own pranking history to his Mentor, who listened raptly.

* * *

Verity tugged at his hand as she swiftly led George into the Leaky Cauldron. She waved at Hannah and dragged her boss and dearest friend over to a small booth in the back. 

“Sit. Talk,” she said. 

“I’m sorry?” said George. 

“I heard you and that cute young thing singing this morning, and when the two of you had decided it was safe to come downstairs, you were looking some cross between peevy and smitten. So spill.”

“He’s got a lovely tenor,” George admitted. “And he was singing about all his exploits at Hogwarts—not the sexual ones! His pranks.”

“You want him.” Verity stated. 

“Well, yeah. Who wouldn’t?”

“You’ve had all of us; what’s keeping you from bonking him?”

“Mostly the contract that says ‘no fraternisation betwixt Mentor and Apprentice,’” George muttered. “Fuck, Verity. How did I end up with an apprentice who is gorgeous, wickedly intelligent, imaginative, and a prankster to boot?” As he finished saying this, Hannah came and took their orders, such as they were: two orders of fish and chips with butterbeer. Hannah laughed at them outright. “Used up all the creativity at work, then?” she joked.

“You have no idea,” confessed George, and waved as Hannah brought their requests to the bar. 

“He sounds like the perfect protégé,” Verity said as soon as Hannah was out of earshot.

“Yeah, well, doesn’t he also sound like the perfect, I don’t know, _life partner_?”

“Oh, Georgie. You’ve got it bad. You barely know him!”

George’s head hit the wooden table, and he smelled the centuries of soaked-in beer. Raising his head, he traced some of the graffiti carved into the tabletop as he regarded Verity again. “I know, and I do. And we can’t act on it—he wants me at least as badly, I think—but....”

“Not until the apprenticeship is over. I know. But it’s only a couple of weeks yet, George. You can buck up for that long, can’t you?”

“Ah, Verity, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” George paused. “Actually, the spirit isn’t much willing, either, which makes it even worse.” 

“Well, two more weeks. And then you can shag like rabbits. In the meantime, we have a lovely Adult line up on the second floor of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes; I’d be glad to show you around, help you find _just_ the kind of product to help you keep yourself company.”

George reached across the table to punch her in the arm.

“But God... He’s also younger than Freddie! I feel like a, a... _paedophile_. I have no right to want someone that young. Hell, I’d just as soon cast an Unforgivable at someone my age who hit on one of my kids. It’s immoral.”

“For pity’s sake. Look. You like him. He likes you. He is interested in many of the same things you are, but is not quite as obsessed with jokes, and wants to make a go of it on his own as an inventor. He’s remarkably mature for his age. He’s also a bloody Malfoy and a Slytherin, but we’ll try not to hold that against him. He’s fucking beautiful. And in fifteen years, nobody will give two shits about the disparity in age.”

“Yeah, but now? He’s not even out of school yet!” 

“Neither are you, technically. You could see if McGonagall would let you come back to repeat your NEWT year,” Verity deadpanned. 

Hannah discreetly set their food on the table, nodding to them as they thanked her.

“Yeah, I could also invent a de-aging potion.” George put vinegar and salt on his food. “But neither of those things is going to happen. I do love my life the way I’ve got it now.” 

“Yes, yes,” Verity said brusquely. “What was it that your family always called Harry right after the war? ‘Mr Stupidly Noble’?” 

“Yeah, but he _was_ stupidly noble, not even willing to kiss Gin in public until they got married.”

“Well, there is that. But seriously, as long as you both are of age, it doesn’t matter once this apprenticeship is finished. You can bonk him on 1st August.” 

“Verity!” George said, shocked. 

“You can! George, nobody _cares_ about it as long as everything is on the up-and-up. Christ, the whole ‘no fraternisation’ rule was put in because the school was nervous that some students might take the rumours of apprentices basically taking the role of _eronemos_ to their Master seriously. Even though it only happened if negotiated in contract. And even though an _eronemos_ is, by definition, underage.”

“Thank you for the history lesson, but even if he is of age, he’s still _younger than Fred_ and still in school with _Roxy_. I just feel seven kinds of wrong about... _wanting_ him so bad. And God, he’s Draco Malfoy’s son! You know how I said I’d cast an Unforgivable on any dirty old man who hit on my kid? Well, I suppose I can expect a _Cruciatus_ if Malfoy finds out.”

Verity snorted. “I think Draco Malfoy is still steeped enough in the old traditions that he’s one of the few parents who wouldn’t find it problematic. Wasn’t his marriage to that Greengrass chit arranged?”

“It was, wasn’t it?” George paused to think. “I still feel like a dirty old man, though. I half-expect myself to become a Mac-flasher, exposing myself to unsuspecting young men.”

“You haven’t even _got_ a Mac, George Weasley! I’ve seen you! You just cast an Imperturbable Charm and let it rain.”

“Well, that’s because I don’t need one to keep me _dry_. But one is required for the Dirty Old Man get-up.” He scrunched his face. “Ugh. I did not just say that.”

Verity giggled. “Yes, you did. So, are you going to act the part and jump the lad as soon as the term of his apprenticeship is over?” 

“No,” George sighed. “It turns out I’m stupidly noble after all. If he asks, I’ll tell him to come back if he’s interested after he completes his NEWTS. I feel like leaving Hogwarts is the line at which someone becomes an adult. Kind of. It’s arbitrary, but at least it’s definite.” He caught Hannah’s eye and gestured for the check.

“I suppose that’s the mature thing to do. I just think you’d be happier if you were getting laid. And in a relationship, but we know how those have gone for you since Ange. Have you thought about Flooing Lee to see if he’d be interested in re-starting that friends-with-benefits deal you had going a couple of years back?”

“God, no. Our friendship barely survived last time. Besides...” he sighed, “sex... it’s never just sex for me, you know? And it definitely wouldn’t be with Scorpius. He’s too close to being exactly what I want in a partner.”

They stood, ready to leave. George turned to Verity and said, “So, you know not to spread all that around, right? Even to Andrea?” 

“Of _course_. I’d be a piss friend if I did.”

“Good.” George grinned. “Now are you ready to spend the next few hours singing with Teddy?”

* * *

Scorpius arrived the next morning in casual robes; George had caught him before he’d departed the night before and instructed him to come to work dressed to go to Gringotts. The goblins, it seemed, did not like Wheezes’ employees showing up in their uniforms. They thought that said employees were wearing such ugly costumes just to mock them. 

“Oh, good, you’re here,” said George as Scorpius met him on the stairs. “I wanted to speak briefly with you to explain the process before we headed out.” Scorpius nodded, and started back up the stairs to the office without being told. “Read my mind, did you, mate,” George chuckled.

“Only because you’re so predictable. I’m not exactly your Master Legilimens.” 

Having arrived first, Scorpius opened the door, and asked, “Desk or couches?” Realising that it could be taken as double-entendre, he felt his face heat _again_ , and ducked his head. _Merlin, I hope George didn’t notice that,_ he thought, watching the older man’s bum as he walked across the room. 

“Couches ought to be fine. I’ll just grab the paperwork so that you can look it over while I explain it.” George grabbed a slender packet from his desk and sauntered back to what Scorpius had come to think of as the “living area.” Much to his disappointment, however, George did not join him on the couch. Rather, he took his seat in the armchair closest to where Scorpius was seated. Scorpius willed away the pout that threatened to form.

“Alright. Let’s walk through it. We need to make two visits this morning: one to Gringott’s, and one to the Ministry. Which do you suppose comes first?”

“Er, since I presume that we shall have to pay some sort of fee to the Ministry,” Scorpius said, knowing that George was the sort of instructor who preferred hearing one’s reasoning to hearing just the correct answer, “we should probably go to Gringott’s first.”

“That _is_ well thought-out, Score, but unfortunately, it’s also wrong. The process goes something like this: We fill out some application forms here, which include a description of the invention, the components, and its purpose. Then we take it to the Registrar at the Ludicrous Patents Office. Which is, for some reason, in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Always good fun to see that lot, the sporty types, that is, but you do have to wonder about the logic of keeping the patent office down there.”

“But isn’t it only for _ludicrous_ patents?” Scorpius asked. 

George chortled. “Well, yes, but the Ministry seems to think that anything that cannot be used to defend against Dark Wizards or to cook dinner is actually just fun and games. Because they’ve got no idea how it is their robes get made. In any event, I don’t mind it. Most of the Wheezes’ products _are_ Ludicrous, after all.” Scorpius could hear George’s voice capitalising the ‘L’ in ‘Ludicrous.’ “And so those things that the Ministry finds essential are Registered through the International Trading Standards Body in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. But the Wizards who work there – my brother Percy, for instance – are far less fun.” 

Scorpius nodded. “Alright. Have you filled out the application yet?” 

“Not at all!” George said, smiling. “I thought we’d do it together. I’ll read aloud the category, you give me an answer, and if it’s acceptable, I’ll write it in.” 

_Just like George to try to make this into a game, as if I really were a child,_ Scorpius grumbled internally, but he really didn’t mind. It was endearing, and, after all, was aimed at making the paperwork less tedious. Besides, he liked anything that kept the two of them talking to one another, even if it was about Ministry nonsense.

“Right, then,” continued George. “Name of Invention?” 

“Er, do we call it by its title, or by a more common sort of name?”

“The title that we’ve decided upon. That way nobody else can use that, either, without our permission.”

“Right. So, the Incense of Canens,” Scorpius responded, and watched George fill in the blank.

“Name of Inventor? Last-name-first.” 

“Weasley, George.” George’s quill scribbled again. 

“Date of Applicaiton.”

“ Twelfth of July, 2025.”

“Purpose of device?”

“Er, to make people sing uncontrollably?”

“Yes, but they don’t like to register things that are ‘uncontrollable.’ Can you re-phrase that?”

“Hm... The Incense of Canens can be used to loosen the inhibitions and vocal chords of the musically insecure.” 

“Excellent! Now we need to write a description of the invention.”

“Cones of incense that release their magical properties when burned. Magical effects include loosening of inhibitions and vocal chords.”

George nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! And we’ll add that the incense is for novelty purposes only.... Alright, do you remember the components?”

“Let’s see... Peppermint oil, cumin, water, mud from the Tiber and laurels from the forest nearby, lavender, and mallowsweet.”

“What form of lavender?”

“Oh! Both honey and dried blossoms.”

“Good. And also anise. Okay, so since the clay and laurels are important, we need to specify powdered _Tiberian_ clay and _Palatine_ laurels. So I’m writing these out.” 

“Sure. What’s the next question, so I might think about it?”

“Oh – for Potions: any known side-effects.”

“I didn’t notice any. Did anyone else have any?”

“Well, those allergic to any of the components should, of course, steer clear of it. Other than that, Andrea reported that Quintus devolved into uncontrollable giggling after about ten minutes.”

“So, ‘Side effects may include uncontrollable giggling; users with allergies should take care to make sure that they are not allergic to any of the components, Magical or Muggle.” 

“That’s perfect, Scorpius. You’re a natural at this, too, it seems.”

“I _am_ a Malfoy, after all. Knowing how to talk our way around complicated situations is taught from the cradle, practically.” Scorpius chuckled, thinking of how his ancestors might react to how he was making use of this time-honoured tradition. “Okay,” he said as he calmed himself, “do we need to put anything else on that form?”

“I need to sign off on the statement at the bottom that, to the best of my knowledge, this invention hasn’t been thought of by anyone else, and that I or my team conceived of the product all by ourselves.” 

“And that’s it?” Scorpius said. It seemed too easy.

“Ministry paperwork. We’ll have to fill it out twice more in front of the Registrar.”

Scorpius groaned. “Best be on our way, then.”

* * *

George restrained himself from reaching out to flatten Scorpius’ hair, which had been swept into adorable disarray by the winds coursing up Diagon Alley. He tried to neaten his own instead; there was nothing the Goblins hated more than unkempt Wizards. Well, they hated people who managed to bypass their security, and anyone who attempted to steal from them or their customers. Harry, Ron and Hermione still weren’t allowed to enter Gringotts, despite their status of War heroes. Harry sent Gin to do all the banking, but Ron and Hermione kept half of their savings in a Muggle account, went to money-changers as needed, and did whatever business they needed to do with Gringotts via post. 

As they entered the sparkling lobby of the bank, George pointed at a door far to their right, which was closed and apparently impenetrable (having neither handle nor keyhole). He said, “Scorpius, that’s where we’re going,” and watched for Scorpius’ response. George was quite surprised by the answer.

“Will their wards alert them to let us in when we approach the door?”

Of course. Scorpius _Malfoy_ would be accustomed to ridiculously secure wards. Somehow over the short time they’d worked together, though, he’d ceased to be a Malfoy in George’s mind, and was, instead, just Scorpius. 

“Close,” George answered. “The wards will let down a bell-pull when we approach, and the goblins will be alerted that we wish to speak to that office when we pull it.” George started heading towards the door, Scorpius catching up quickly. As they arrived at the door, the bell-pull descended and, at George’s encouraging nod, Scorpius pulled it. 

A gnarly old goblin cracked open the top half of the door, still needing to look up at the two wizards. “You Wizards seek goblin help?” he demanded. 

George spoke first. “Yes. We’ve just come from the Ludicrous Patent Office at the Wizarding Ministry of Magic, and we are ready to complete our patent registration.” 

The wizened goblin hopped down from his perch and opened the door. “Come with me, Wizards. Why your Ministry can’t manage its own work for its citizens is beyond me, but at least we are adequately compensated...” he muttered to himself, reminding George ever so much of Harry’s Elf, Kreacher. 

“We thank you. My name is George Weasley, and this is my apprentice Scorpius Malfoy,” George said and bowed, poking Scorpius to make sure he did the same. Making proper introductions was essential to the project of getting things done with Goblins.

“You may call me Waddeith,” the goblin said. “A Malfoy with a Weasley, eh? Such strange company the young humans keep these days, such strange company.”

George coughed. Though he and Waddeith had an amicable relationship, George wasn’t always fond of the little digs the goblin made. He half-wanted to mention that his brother Ronald had once befriended a goblin (since such friendships were frowned upon by both Wizard and Goblin), but given that Ron was still banned, he held back. Besides, it had never sounded like they were _friends_ exactly, but like they had a ‘mutually beneficial’ relationship. 

Back at Waddeith’s desk, the two men and the goblin took seats. “Well, hand it over!” the goblin said. 

Scorpius handed the scroll the Ministry official had signed and stamped ‘FOR GRINGOTT’S’ to him. 

“You are the Wizard applying for the patent protection, Mr Malfoy?”

“No, sir,” Scorpius answered, as per George’s earlier coaching. “I was merely carrying it for my Master.” 

Waddeith laughed then, a strange, wince-inducing laugh that sounded like the caw of a raven whose voice had been damaged by inhalation of gravel. “Your Master! Why, the only Masters I remember any Malfoys ever having were Dark Lords and such! Tell me, boy, is this George Weasley another Dark Wizard? And if so, will he be fair to Goblinkind?”

“Er, no, sir! I mean, he’s not Dark, sir, he’s the Master for my apprenticeship. And I would hope that by our example here this morning you would see that indeed, we both have the highest regard for the honourable race of Goblins.”

 _Hm, this might be tricky,_ thought George. _I’ve never seen Scorpius act so flustered before – and at questions about what kind of Master I am? Or is it because of references to the Dark Lord?_

Meanwhile, Waddeith squinted at Scorpius, seeming to look for whether he was making sport of him.

“This is true? This is a simple Master-apprenticeship relationship, no gathering of power through arcane or obscene rituals?”

“Yes. Simple. Very, _very_ , simple,” George said quickly, trying to satisfy the goblin’s question without leading further down the road that led to questions about other forms of apprenticeships.  
“Shame, that,” said Waddeith. “There was always something to be said for the old ways, though it seems those traditions fell by the wayside when those Christians took over...silly, life-hating Christians...never know what a good thing is. Think we need to be miserable in order to be good...” Waddeith continued to mutter about the odd Muggle sect while looking over the application. 

Finally, he looked up and said, “Well, these seem to be in order. I just need to do a scan of the application and compare it to the Great Record of Objects, and see whether you have _really_ created, or just adapted...or outright _stolen_.” Waddeith glared at the two men, still seated, as he rose and took the application to a room behind them.”

George glanced at Scorpius, noticing a barely-concealed look of shock on his face. “First time spending much time in the presence of a goblin, is it?” he asked.

“I suppose so. I mean, I’ve been to Gringott’s loads of times, but usually the goblin would just take us down to our vault, not speak much. And when Papa needs to speak with them, he usually sends me and Maman back out to Diagon.” 

George nodded. This made sense. “Well, welcome to doing business in the Magical world, Score.” He suppressed a smile, realising how just using that nickname was a nod to the young man’s ebullient sexuality. “They are very fond of traditions, ‘old ways,’ even more than your average Pureblooded family was back in the days of the Voldemort Wars. Very proud, too, they are. And mistrustful of Wizards, though that’s certainly for good reason. I do a lot of business at this office, so Waddeith and his colleagues have got to know me, and I haven’t offended them yet. Nor tried to cheat them out of what they believe is rightfully theirs. ‘Course, it helps that I’ve never been able to afford anything goblin-made.” George reached over and patted Scorpius on the knee. “You’re doing very well, though. Being careful in your manners reassures goblins that we do _not_ view them as inferior beings. And the way you addressed him as ‘sir,’ well, that’s convinced him that you acknowledge his superiority.”

“His superiority!” Scorpius exclaimed. No matter how much rot he could understand the speeches about Malfoys being ‘among the oldest and the best of Wizardkind,’ he still believed that they were superior to _creatures_. 

“Yes. Goblins think that Wizards are rather dim, not having the same magical skills that they do. And that we are lazy – notice how he talked about the Ministry? – and tend towards the criminal, since they have different rules of ownership than humans have. Not to mention the fact that while nearly all Goblins have learned at least one human language, very few of us have even attempted Gobbledegook.”

“Oh,” Scorpius said quietly. “I guess I knew that. I just hadn’t experienced their, well, _disdain_ before.”

“It is rather disconcerting, isn’t it? However, the goblins, and especially Waddeith, are fantastic at what they do. It’s why we Wizards trust them with our monies and our business records.” 

“Ah, are you talking about how much your race needs us, George Weasley?” Waddeith said as he returned to his desk. 

“I certainly am, Waddeith, as well as teaching him about the proper etiquette of Goblin-Wizard transactions.”

“Good man. He is lucky to have a Wizard Master who is so thorough.”

“Indeed I am,” Scorpius said, and George smiled proudly. He glanced over at his young apprentice, who looked to be stifling a smile, unsuccessfully, himself. 

“Yes, yes,” said Waddeith, seemingly tired of the small talk. “So, your application comes up clean compared to the other Objects in the Record. Congratulations.” The goblin stamped the copy of the application that he had, and held out his hand for the other two. When all three were stamped, Waddeith signed them, and said, “Seventy-five galleons, please.” 

“Please draft it from the account of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, Waddeith. And would you also give us a bank draft of fifty galleons so that we can send that fee off with the completed Registration?” 

“Lazy, lazy,” drawled the gravelly voice of Waddeith. “Yes, George Weasley, I will do this just as we do every time. Perhaps one day you will come to our business meetings adequately prepared.”

“Oh, but then what would you have to fault me for, Waddeith?” George said, joking back. He was glad that it had been Waddeith today; there were other goblins who were less subtle and also less polite. They’d worked together often enough, though, that they’d come to recognize the jokesters hidden underneath the professional exteriors. 

“Is there anything else you require, George Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy?”

“Nothing today, Waddeith. We thank you for your time and efficient assistance.” 

“It is nothing. Come back when you have more money,” Waddeith said, waving them towards the door as he laughed that awful laugh again. George found himself cracking up as well. 

“We shall, though it’s more likely to go into the vault than into your pocket!” George announced cheerfully, and led Scorpius out of the bank.

* * *

_Wow. Even goblins like George. He’s so easy-going, and such a good teacher, and even knows how to be polite when it is called for!_ For some reason, this realisation surprised Scorpius, and made him nervous. _If he’s so charming to everyone else, why would he be specifically interested in me?_ And he realised that he had little confirmation that George actually _was_ specifically interested in him. 

_Fuck. Why do things have to be so complicated? I mean, he_ looks _at me like he’s interested, but he didn’t take me up on my suggestion that he test sex products with me._  
Scorpius frowned. Maybe there was a way to get around that. 

“Knut for your thoughts?” George asked. 

Scorpius pulled himself out of his reverie. “Nothing much. Just thinking about inventing things, and how...much more _structured_ things are than I’d expected. I suppose I shouldn’t be, but everything you do seems so organised.”

George laughed. “It wasn’t always. But yeah, I’ve come to realise that having a definite process definitely makes us more efficient, especially since Fred passed.” He paused, and Scorpius thought again about how hard it must have been for George to keep the shop going after the War. “I mean, the two of us were also organised, I reckon, but it was less formal. We’d been bouncing ideas back and forth since we were small children, see, and that process would precede any testing we wanted to do – we definitely dumped some harebrained schemes and expanded others.”

“It must have been really hard for you, after,” said Scorpius. “I’m glad you kept on.”

“Me, too,” George said quietly, and Scorpius turned to observe his expression. His face was somewhat less open than usual, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. Then he took a deep breath, and said, “I hope that had he survived, we would have come to some of the same decisions regarding our product development process, and that we’d have been bright enough to invite all members of the staff to participate, as well as take on apprentices and the like. But even if we hadn’t, I’d rather he’d have lived.”

“Of course,” said Scorpius, not sure how else to respond to that. This was as close as George had ever let him, even though they were still walking several inches apart. It was his mentor at his most vulnerable. 

“Listen to me, going on like that!” exclaimed George, turning on the sunshine of his personality and squashing the moment. “We haven’t really spoken yet about getting you up and running with your own products.”

“George, it’s okay–”

“No, it actually isn’t,” interrupted George. “You came on board to apprentice in product development, and while I’ve had you help me with products we were working on, I have yet to exploit that fine young imagination of yours!”

Scorpius couldn’t help but laugh. “True.”

“So, young man, are you ready to give up your dreams for the good of the business?” George asked, using a voice that was obviously aiming at smarmy. 

“Oh, yes, kind sir!” Scorpius responded in kind. “I’ve got such ideas and hopes, but I can’t make them work by myself!”

George regarded him, pausing before the entrance to Weasley Wizarding Wheezes. “Is that true?” he asked. 

“Actually, a bit, yes. I was intrigued by the creation of an inhalation potion, and am wondering about their effects on the mind.”

George ‘hmmed,’ and called out to Verity, “Scorpius and I have some things we need to continue discussing. Will you lot be okay without us for another bit?”

“You two just want to get out of doing any actual _work_ today!” Verity shot back. 

“How well you know us!” said George. “Seriously, do you need us around, or can we go upstairs for this?”

“You’re the boss, Boss. We’ll be fine,” Teddy interjected, elbowing Verity and waggling his eyebrows a bit, an action which Scorpius chose to shrug off.

“Right then. We’ll be in the lab if you need us,” George said, indicating by his choice of words that he expected the two of them to be trying out some of these ‘ideas.’ He gestured to Scorpius, who started up the stairs, trying to think of how to use this to his advantage, how to use his creative interests to support his romantic ones.

“You’re thinking of mind-altering potions?” George said as soon as they’d closed the door to the office-lab behind them. “Those are pretty dangerous, and rather tightly regulated, you know. Ministry seems to worry about them becoming as much of a scourge on the Magical population as Muggle drugs are on theirs.”

Scorpius paused, considering. “But you’ve sold your Patented Daydream Charms for years.”

“Yes, well, there _is_ that nasty prejudice the Ministry has. They seem to think that Charms are always harmless, and that Potions have a tendency to be Dark.”

“I was interested in an inhalation Potion because I thought it would actually be the least dangerous delivery of mind-influencing magic,” Scorpius told him as the two sat at George’s desk. 

George gave him a penetrating look. “Go on, then,” he said. 

“The thing with potions, especially inhalable ones, is that they often have a limited effect. You know, it goes through your system, and unless the potion has transfigured something permanently, it wears out after a period of time.”

“Yes. Keep going,” said George. 

Scorpius rolled his eyes. _The man just wants to make me say it; it’s not a new idea, by any means._ “So, charms and transfiguration spells and whatnot – they all require the spell to be ended. They don’t have an easy time-release mechanism most of the time. Sure, eventually the caster dies or forgets about the spell enough that it’s no longer powered, but you can’t much count on that; it’s why we have to work so hard on the charms-based products. Because we can’t safely sell them unless they’ve got a way to stop themselves. But with potions, especially inhalation potions, the effect only lasts as long as the potion is in one’s system, which is as long as the smoke or vapour or whatnot is still in the air. Maybe a few minutes longer. So all we need to manipulate is how long a single application or dose of the potion will last on its own. For all the worry people have had about an ‘Imperius Potion’ over the years, it’s not a very logical fear. Or at least, it should not be feared so much as people fear actual curses and such, which are much more dependent on the will of the caster. In fact, that is probably why one has never fallen into favour, even among Dark wizards.” With a grand wave of his arm, he added, “I rest my case.”

George laughed out loud at this. “Well-reasoned, Scorpius. And perhaps you best consider a career as a barrister!”

“That’s no fun,” pouted Scorpius. “But don’t you agree that, especially in terms of products that affect the mind, potions are the way to go?”

“Oh, I’m in agreement about that,” George said, “especially if we can use the potion-quality of them, the fact that they activate for a limited time, as a marketable safety feature. We would, of course, need to highlight that in the Ministry patent application as well.” 

“Of course,” murmured Scorpius, considering what sort of ‘mind-altering potion’ would work to his best advantage. And it was a good thing.

“So, you say you’ve been considering this. Has it been an abstract consideration, or do you have some sort of particular potion in mind?” George asked. 

“Oh... I was considering some sort of fantasy potion for the Second Floor,” Scorpius said. “Something to, I don’t know, enhance the experience of fantasy.” 

“A potions version of our Patented Daydream Charm?” 

“Er, somewhat. I haven’t got all the details worked out yet, just some ideas and a couple of arithmantic sketches... a few ingredients listed. Not quite ready for brewing yet, that.” 

“Well, why don’t you take the rest of the day, and tomorrow, and then, say at half-three, you can show me what you’ve got so far, and we can see about setting a schedule to brew.” 

“Really?” asked Scorpius, his heart starting to race. 

“Really. Now why don’t you get to it, man? You’ve only a couple of hours left today.”

“Yeah. Er, right...” Scorpius looked around, seeing what he thought of as his ‘sketchbook’ lying on the ‘prep table.’ His gaze returned to George. “Are you, well, going to be staying up here as well?”

George laughed. “Need some privacy, do you? Well, never fear. I’ll be downstairs with the rest of the gang, and let them know that you’re up here starting work on your first product for Wheezes.”

“Thank you,” Scorpius said quietly, and breathed a sigh of relief as he paged through his sketchbook to the notes he had about what he thought of as his ‘Fantastic Fantasy Potion.’ At least he had that much of an idea...

* * *

“Here’s what I have so far, George. I’ve already done some experimenting with the base and some of the more stable ingredients to see whether they come together alright. They’re over at the potions station –” 

“Hold on a minute, Score,” George interrupted, seeing Scorpius’ agitation and feeling the need to slow everything down just a tad. “Could I take a moment to look at your notes, first?” 

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Just... Don’t laugh, alright? I’m not sure how well this will work, but I’ve got a bit of hope about it.”

George looked at the page Scorpius had opened the notebook to. It was relatively neat, though the facing page was full of scribbles, doodles, and arithmantic equations, as well as a sketch of that month’s lunar cycle. Intrigued, he began to read.

>   
> Fantastic Fantasy Potion
> 
> Purpose: To create a realistic fantasy that involves both brain and body. 
> 
> Ingredients:
> 
> Fluxweed (to bring about “change”)  
>  60g Dried and crumbled knotgrass (from Polyjuice - to fix the idea for an hour)  
>  20 drops Peppermint oil (Euphoria Solution, also to carry fragrance. Enough for fragrance? Also, it tingles!)  
>  7g Pufferfish scales (Swelling Solution)  
>  10g ground Moonstone (from Calming Solution and Draught of Peace)  
>  3 lovage petals (from Confusing/Befuddlement Draughts): shred, but keep the shreddings from each petal separate.  
>  100g Flobberworm mucus base (to bind)  
>  Spines from the concave side of one Jabberknoll feather (to evoke the “inner truth” of the user's desires)  
>  (how many?) Frozen ashwinder eggs (to incite lust)  
> 

George was stunned. This was already art; none of the ingredients would interact poorly, to the best of his knowledge (and he had a lot of knowledge about ingredients reacting in explosive ways), several of them served multiple purposes, and most purposes were served multiple times. And the Ashwinder eggs and Jabberknoll feathers were the only expensive ingredients; they were expensive enough, however, that they would be justified in charging a noble knut for the potion, assuming that it worked.

He decided to continue reading rather than comment at the moment.

> Process  
>  Start with a base of flobberworm mucus.  
>  Slowly add the Jabberknoll spines, while stirring thrice clockwise.  
>  Add 20 drops of peppermint oil; then stir twice clockwise.  
>  Sprinkle powdered moonstone over the top; let sit until the liquid is bubbling – what color should it be?  
>  Slowly alternate slipping in the ashwinder eggs and the lovage. Stir 11 times clockwise and twice anti-clockwise.  
>  Quickly stir in 7g of pufferfish scales.  
>  Add 5g of fluxweed, along with 60g of dried and crumbled knotgrass; stir clockwise ten times; let sit (half an hour should be good enough), then stir once anti-clockwise. Let the solution sit and cool before bottling. 
> 
> Questions:  
>  Length of brewing times – are approximations close? Stirring should be correct per arithmantic checks.  
>  Several ingredients affected by lunar cycle – do we need to prepare at certain point of cycle to maximise effect? Or should we try to minimise effect?  
>  Should test on skin in well-ventilated room first; need to check dermatological effects before respiratory and psychotropic effects.  
> 

“Scorpius. Scorpius...I’m floored, mate. Truly. This is fantastic work for a first go. And I’m really impressed you wrote out considerations and questions at the end.”

Scorpius – was he blushing? George shoved the idea of how hot a blushing intelligent man was to the back of his brain, and tried to refocus as Scorpius replied, “Thanks. I’m top of my class in Potions, but this was a big challenge, even for me. I think it should work, though.”

“So, you’ve made a brief statement of purpose at the top of your notes, but can you tell me a bit more about what you imagine this concoction doing?” 

“Well, it should be rather like a lotion, but a very, very fragrant one. The fragrance is how the subject inhales the psychotropic elements of the potion. Meanwhile, the ingredients that primarily react with the skin will draw the blood there, enhancing the experience of the fantasy by affecting the parts of the body the user wants to fantasise are affected by what’s happening in the fantasy. The ingredients will also all be absorbed through the skin and into the bloodstream that way, enhancing the magical connection between the areas the lotion’s applied to and the thoughts the inhalation has provoked. And I’ve included a certain amount of Fluxweed both to bring about the change in body and mind and to assure that the change is temporary – lasting only an hour, the way Polyjuice does.”

 _Dumbfounded again,_ was all George could think for a few moments. Truly, he was _shocked_ at how thoroughly Scorpius had considered all this, not to mention how much the young man seemed to have learned about physiology in the past week. Speaking of which...

“Scorpius, were you having me on when you said you didn’t know about Wizard anatomy the other day? Because you use all the terms properly, and have considered many of the physical affects in a way that only someone who had studied how bodies work would be able to do.” 

“No, George!” Scorpius chuckled. “Though that would have been amusing, wouldn’t it? But I realised that your criticism was spot-on, so when I got home that night, I asked my father to show me where in our library we kept the books on magical anatomy and physiology, and have stayed up reading them at night so I can understand how things work.”

“Oh.” _Fuck, the lad’s got initiative._

“Things are much easier when you’ve got an understanding of the basics. Thanks for pointing that out.” 

“Er, sure.” George took a breath and leaned back, his elbows on the prep table. He cast _Tempus_. Half four, which meant an hour and a half until closing time. 

“Scorpius, would you like for us to get started on brewing this right now? We can at least get to seeing how the basic ingredients work together.” 

“Oh, I’ve got that much done, remember? It’s right there,” he said, gesturing to the small, lightly steaming cauldron on the lab table. 

“Oh, right,” said George. “Have you applied it to your skin, yet?”

“Of course not, George. All testing needs to be done in the presence of one of our teammates, hasn’t it?”

“Yes. Well, we should start with that, then. I’ll test it on my skin, then you on yours, right?” 

“Fine, though I do think that it would be better for me to be the first to try it, since I mixed it.”

“No, you’re still a student, and therefore I’m in theory supposed to keep you from harm as much as I can.” George heard Scorpius sigh heavily at that. “Well, it’s _true_ , no matter that you are of age.”

“Right. Well, we need to open a window and cast a Ventilation Charm near us so that we’re only seeing the effects on your skin,” Scorpius said, and cast spells to open a window and blow air around the Testing Area in the centre of the room.

George moved onto the cushioned floor and sat. It never hurt to be overly cautious. “This is supposed to last for an hour, right?” he verified with Scorpius as the younger man carried the cooled cauldron and an application wand to the Testing Area. At Scorpius’ affirmation, George said, “Well, it looks like we’ll be staying a bit late. Do you need to Floo home to let your parents know you’ll be late?”

“Yeah, they’re expecting me for dinner,” Scorpius replied, and strolled over to the Floo, calling “Malfoy Manor!” as he threw the Floo Powder in and followed it with his head.

When his head returned, George needed to wrench his gaze away from his lovely, pert arse.

“Alright, then?” he asked, trying to refocus both of them away from his blush. 

“It’s fine,” said Scorpius. 

“Good,” said George, “because it’ll be one hour for me, and then another hour for you, and then note-writing.” 

“Better get started, then,” Scorpius said.

* * *

> Dear Albus –
> 
> Not sure whether I’ll actually have the nerve to send this to you – and I’ll probably need to charm it so that only you can read it if I do. But it needs to get written, and you’re my best friend and a good sounding board, even when you’re not here. 
> 
> Have I mentioned that I’ve a HUGE CRUSH on George? I know. You’re making retching noises as you read this, right? But he’s so handsome and kind and funny, and takes charge in an amazingly sexy way, that’s light-hearted while being no-nonsense. Or at least as no-nonsense as one can get over at Wheezes. 
> 
> Anyway, he’s pretty much shot down all my attempts at flirtation, but I think he might be interested, too – he’s told me he likes blokes – and so for my first invention I did some refining of that Fantastic Fantasy Potion we thought would be so cool. We’re changing the name, of course; both George and I think that ‘Desire’s Demand’ is a sexier name. 
> 
> At this stage it’s a topical and inhalation potion, and the topical bit has no negative effects on the skin, so we’re going to brew and test the entire thing tomorrow. George thinks adding a variation on the Patented Daydream Charm will help keep the fantasy a coherent narrative, so we’ll be adding that towards the end. I hope it all works; I can’t wait to hear your reaction after you’ve tried it for the first time. 
> 
> Al, I’m going for broke. We’re brewing and testing it in all forms tomorrow. George usually goes first. He’s a bit protective. But I know that I’m, well, vocal when I wank, so that’s good – he’ll likely realise how much I do want him. If I were going first, there’s probably no way he’d try it out in front of me. 
> 
> All I hope is that he doesn’t throw me out on my arse or look at me with pity. And that maybe, just maybe, he’ll realise how much he wants me in return...  
> 


	4. A Denoument (of sorts)

> SURPRISES AWAIT THE OPEN-MINDED:  
>  An Interview with Albus S. Potter
> 
> By Rita Skeeter
> 
> Three weeks into the summer apprenticeship season, I have the honour of introducing to you my own apprentice, Albus Severus Potter, son of Harry Potter (otherwise known as Saviour of the Wizarding World) and Holyhead Harpy Ginevra Weasley Potter.
> 
> Albus was matched to The Daily Prophet and yours truly after submitting a stunning essay describing how he hopes to travel and learn how people and creatures in other parts of the world live. It appears that there were no appropriate travelling apprenticeships, so we have had the pleasure of showing him the ropes, so to speak, at _The Daily Prophet._
> 
>  **RS:** What is the most interesting thing that you have learned this summer, Albus?  
>  **ASP:** Probably that your Quick-Quotes Quill isn’t a device designed to wreak as much havoc as possible on your interview subjects.  
>  **RS:** And yet, you still insist that I interview you without the benefit of it.  
>  **ASP:** Well, just because it isn’t malicious doesn’t mean it isn’t _harmful_. The Quick-Quotes Quill functions as a fact-checker, but the facts it checks against have been limited to old editions of the _Prophet_ , which means that the Quill does not allow for any new information to be ascertained. In fact, it will change the content of a quote to match what it believes to be ‘reality,’ if it fails the check. It is also charmed to frame quotes in your own voice, which is very clever and a real labour-saving feature. But I would hope that most reporters would be willing to do that extra bit of labour to ensure accurate reporting. Why are you laughing again, Ms Skeeter?  
>  **RS:** I continue to be amazed at your optimism, that’s all. What, in your opinion, is a superior way of writing up an interview or getting a quote correct?  
>  **ASP:** As I’ve said every time we’ve spoken on the subject, Ms Skeeter, I think that it is much more ethical to take a few notes while interviewing, mostly to reassure the subject that you are paying attention, but really spend most of your energy watching them. Then you can Pensieve the memory and re-create the interview from that. It would require, of course, that the Prophet invest in a number of Pensieves, but such a successful organisation should have no trouble doing so; I believe that _The Quibbler_ , which has a much smaller circulation, already uses Pensieve verification for its interviews, and includes both corroborating and discrediting evidence alongside the quote in the report.  
>  **RS:** Yes, yes. Moving on, then. What have you learned about the techniques of reporting?  
>  **ASP:** That it is essential to put your subject at ease, of course, and to seem friendly while retaining your journalistic objectivity. This is very hard, in my recent experience. _[Mr Potter will be contributing his own piece on what he and his Hogwarts cohort have learned during their apprenticeships, to be published on 1st August, when his apprenticeship is finished.]_ Especially when interviewing people I’ve known for years, or have fondness for, I have to remind myself that this job is not about making them or myself look good, but about telling the truth, and conveying what information the public _needs_ to know...

* * *

Scorpius and George had spent the morning brewing, making several different variations, including one based in aloe gel rather than flobberworm because women tended to prefer that for ‘personal lubricants.’ 

Scorpius found that bit of information fascinating, especially since his recent studies had taught him that the flobberworm base, being a mucus, was actually closer to what women produced when they were excited anyway. Women were weird. Thank goodness he didn’t have to worry about pleasing them sexually. Well, pleasing them both sexually and directly, he supposed. 

George had called the staff together before the two of them had started brewing to explain that he and Scorpius planned to spend the day in the lab. They would be completing and testing a prototype potion, and that nobody was to enter the lab until they said they were done or they smelled smoke drifting downstairs. In the latter case, Verity and Teddy were permitted to engage in rescue activities as needed. 

And thus Scorpius had been left alone with George for the day, trying to concentrate on the variations on the potion and keep up the light-hearted banter despite his rather intrusive thoughts of shagging the man beside him. Or being shagged by. It didn’t matter to him, really. The knowledge that they would be trying out ‘Desire’s Demand’ for real, and he would be fantasising _in front of the object of his fantasies_ was enough to keep Scorpius well and truly on edge. 

George, damn him, didn’t seem to be at all apprehensive. 

“None of these ingredients, especially when combined, are respiratory or dermatological irritants. This should go off with no ill effects; the big question is whether it will work as planned,” he said confidently, and another chill coursed up Scorpius’ spine. He’d got a whiff of the potion the night before, and was fairly certain that it would work. Perhaps it would work too well. He hoped that he didn’t embarrass himself with his teenaged lack of stamina. 

“So, George, how are we going to do this? I assume you’re testing first, right?” Scorpius asked when they returned from lunch. 

“Of course. Despite the fact that I’m almost positive this is safe, I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you because I was wrong.” 

Scorpius scowled at that. “Look, George, I appreciate the thought, and I have no problem with you testing it first. But you should know that _since I made the potion up_ , I too would be overwhelmed with guilt should something happen to you as the result of using this.”

“Of course,” George let out a slow breath. “My apologies for not honouring the responsibility you carry for the safety of ‘Desire’s Demand.’”

“Plus, I care what happens to you, you prat,” Scorpius added, his scowl diminished but still present. He took his own calming breath, exhaling loudly. “Right. Other than your going first, what’s the plan, George?”

“Well, the subject will disrobe, apply the potion to the areas he wants affected by the potion, and then lie in the middle of the Testing Area with a sheet over him until the test is done. The observer will take notes about the visible or aural effects, and then we’ll take a quick break for the loo and a snack, and switch off.” 

“Very organised.”

“Well, you know how I think organisation is the key to efficiency.”

“Indeed.” Scorpius turned to George. “So... Is the subject going to get to apply the potion in private? Only, I don’t really want you to see all the places I want to put it on.” _At least, I don’t want you to see me preparing my arsehole unless you’re planning on fucking it and good._

“Good point. Hm. I’ve got a blindfold somewhere.” He rooted around in his desk until he found one. “Alright. Here we go.”

“Are you getting dressed after you put it on?”

“What?” George paused again. “Oh. No, I’ll pull the blanket on the settee over myself.”

“Right. Shall I cover my eyes now?” Scorpius asked, wishing he could watch George strip. 

George nodded, the blindfold went on, and Scorpius took a seat on the settee. He could hear George moving about, hear the thumps of his boots hitting the floor by his desk and the quiet sounds of his hands tapping one another as he folded his clothes. He heard the squelch of fingers digging into the lukewarm gel they had produced and the impact of the gel before it was (he assumed) silently spread on George’s skin. He could _smell_ the lotion, and said, “Hey, George, can you bring me a scarf or something to keep the fragrance from taking over my mind as well?”

The soft padding of George’s footsteps approached, and something a bit heavier than Scorpius was expecting fell into his lap. He felt it; it was knitted, and he suspected that it was George’s – or somebody’s – old Gryffindor scarf. He brought it up to his nose and mouth and inhaled the scent of George. _Yes, this is George’s – smells of his shampoo and a little bit manly._ Then Scorpius finally heard the soft thud of George’s arse hitting the specially outfitted, cushioned floor, and the susurration of the sheet flowing onto him. 

“Can I take off the blindfold now?” Scorpius asked. 

“Huh? Oh, er, yes...” said George, obviously under the influence of the potion already. Scorpius tied the scarf around the back of his head so that he had his hands free, and reached for his notebook to scribble that the potion seemed to have an immediate effect on the brain, or at least on one’s ability to register one’s surroundings.

Having written that first observation, Scorpius looked over at George. The ginger-and-white head was all that remained uncovered at the moment, though when George shifted, the sheet moved to expose his left foot. Apparently, he had not applied any of the lotion to his feet or legs, as the sheet stuck to his skin where he had: his hands, shoulders, nipples, hips and cock. There was also potion on George’s lips, which fell open as he moaned, and then licked, spreading the potion onto his tongue. 

_Shite, we didn’t check to make sure it was ingestible,_ Scorpius thought, and looked over his ingredients list again. _Well, everything in it is used in other ingestible potions, so we can only hope that they aren’t going to be dangerous in combination._ He breathed a sigh of relief as he ran through the list yet another time and realised that any dangers should have become apparent during the brewing stage. He turned his attention back to George.

Who was continuing to moan, arms working their way out from under the sheet to reach for his imagined lover. His head tilted up a bit, and his lips and tongue worked as if he were kissing, deepening a kiss, trying to devour his lover’s soul. His arms twisted, one reaching up as if to tangle his hands in someone’s hair, the other reaching down to grab an arse cheek as he pressed his own hips forward. 

At the sight of George pressing forward, the tip of his cock making the sheet slightly more damp, Scorpius realised he might be in Big Trouble. He closed his eyes, breathing through his nose as he started to run through all the least arousing scenarios he could. _The Headmistress in a milk bath. Extracting mucus from flobberworms. Gathering manure from the Hippogriff paddock to use as fertiliser. Mushy peas._

George groaned, snatching Scorpius’ attention from the task of keeping his arousal at bay. He was now on his knees, the sheet barely covering his hips and cock. His mouth opened wide, and he puckered his lips, his tongue stabbing in and out, occasionally rotating. His hands were holding onto the fantasy lover’s hips. 

_Oh, Merlin,_ Scorpius thought. _What is he_ doing _, and when can I have him doing it to me?_ It was torture, that’s what it was. Scorpius distracted himself by noting that the subject was not only capable of moving while under the influence, but of doing so with gusto, so it ought not be done at a high elevation or on a particularly narrow bed. Once again his attention was brought back to George, who had growled and fallen forward. 

Clearly, he’d moved on to shagging. He looked almost like he was doing push-ups, except for the fact that it was his hips leading the action, and rotating slowly before tilting up and withdrawing. His arse and cock were both on display now, the sheet having fallen away when he leaned over. Scorpius was stunned, and craned his neck down to get a look at George’s red, swollen cock. “Come, on,” George groaned again. “Let go. You know you want to.” 

_Fuck. I’m going to shoot my own load if I don’t calm down, think of something other than him,_ Scorpius thought. He pinched his arm and recited arithmancy tables and took care to smell his own breath in the scarf. He thought of Professor Sinistra naked atop the Astronomy Tower at school, standing right in front of the plaque that commemorated the fall of Albus Dumbledore, speaking of the Saturn regression. He imagined her nips all wrinkled and pointy in the cold air, and that his own bollocks were that cold and in need of a retreat as well. He felt himself calming, in a disgusted sort of way.

Until George cried, “Yes! There you go! Fuck! Come for me, Score!” and started snapping his hips faster and faster. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , want to be in you, live in your sweet tight hole, oh, _Scorpius_!” George finally stiffened and short, thick ropes of semen spurted from his cock. 

Scorpius’ own cock twitched, seeming to complain about how unfair it was that a fantasy version of it got to have all the fun. Scorpius’ mind happened to be in agreement, but knew that, even at seventeen, his recovery time would be too long to allow him to come during his own testing phase if he gave in now. 

He cast _Tempus_ : the potion had 21 minutes left to go in George’s system. Good. That should give him time to get his libido more fully under control before George snapped out of it, and get him back to “base level” before having his own go at ‘Desire’s Demand.’

Scorpius saw that George was cuddling the sheet and whispering to it, though he couldn’t make out the statements themselves. Eventually he seemed to slip out of consciousness, falling asleep for the last ten minutes of the potion’s effect, allowing Scorpius the time to practice breathing deeply through his nose, make some final notes about his observations, and willing away his erection so that the two of them could discuss the potion like mature, objective adults.

* * *

George woke up feeling languid. Then he realised that his arse was cold. Which was because he was arse-naked on the Testing Area floor, cuddling the sheet that was supposed to be covering him. In front of the young man he’d just spent an hour fantasising about to the best orgasm he’d ever had without another person. 

_Fuck,_ he thought, as he sprang to cover himself with the sheet, hoping that he hadn’t made a great fool of himself. He remembered rimming the Dream-Scorpius, and fucking him like the younger man had been built for his own pleasure. He remembered that Dream-Scorpius had demanded more, had begged him to claim him, to own him, to tie him down and keep him forever. George remembered snuggling Dream-Scorpius close to him after the shagging was done, telling him that he was perfect, that he loved him, and hearing him say, ‘I love you, too, Georgie.’

 _Fuck!_ This was not what was supposed to happen, though George couldn’t imagine how he thought anything else _would_ happen. 

Now he had to watch as Scorpius subjected himself to the same sort of deep, amazing fantasy that he’d just had. And then they would have to compare notes, and probably talk about what they had witnessed, _but in the most vague terms possible!_ Restore their relationship to sanity. Restore _himself_ to respectability; he certainly counted as a Dirty Old Man now that he’d climaxed in front of the young man he lusted after.

He really, _really_ ought to have skived off on this, assigned Scorpius and Angela to work together and have himself work with Verity, who knew all his secrets anyway. 

“Er, hallo,” he said. “You about done with your notes, then?” He felt the heat spreading across his face and his chest. Damn pale, freckly skin. 

“Been done for a bit, mate. It seems that if your fantasy runs out before the potion does, the subject falls asleep,” Scorpius replied, avoiding George’s eyes. Which George didn’t see because he was avoiding eye contact, too. 

“Er, alright. Would you mind putting the blindfold back on, even though I expect you’ve already seen my goods? It would be more comfortable for me,” George said. 

“Right. Here I go,” said Scorpius as he re-covered his eyes. 

George looked at him for a bit, taking in the vision of the young man relaxing on the settee, wearing a blindfold and a Gryffindor scarf along with his Wheezes robes. The colours were dead blinding together, yet George couldn’t help but find the effect adorable. He was unable to read Scorpius’ mood from the line of his lips, which seemed slightly turned down, but probably more out of boredom than anything else. _Right! I’m supposed to be changing!_ George remembered, and cast a quick _Lavare_ over himself before tugging on his denims and shirt, robes unnecessary for the time being. He decided to leave his socks and boots off, too, even though he knew it was against his own protocol; he’d already had this potion all over his skin; the only reason he’d need his boots would be in case of an emergency. He’d take his chances about that, since Scorpius probably wouldn’t be wearing shoes, either. It was only fair. 

“All dressed, Score,” he said, and winced, remembering how he’d addressed the boy in his fantasy. He soldiered on. “Ready to get your potion on?” 

“Trust you to make that sound even pervier than it is,” Scorpius muttered, just loud enough to make George chuckle uncomfortably. He held out the blindfold and scarf.

“Yeah, well, go on, then,” George said, and slid the two accessories onto his face. 

When Scorpius came to at the end of his fantasy, George was wanking his way through his second climax of the afternoon. 

_I’m going to a special hell for this. Probably the one filled with the most boring of Death Eaters,_ he thought. 

Scorpius, on the other hand, had other concerns. “You let yourself come _again_? When I had to keep my entire sex drive in check while you wanked off, shouting my name? How on earth is this fair?”

“Score, I – “ 

“Oh, come off it, George. You can’t hide the fact that your willy is hanging out of your trousers and you’ve got a sticky palm. Not to mention a very wee puddle on the floor. And we both know who you were fantasising about when you used the potion before.” 

“We do?” 

“You, er, talk in your sleep, George.” 

_Fuck again._ “So do you, Scorpius. It seems we’ve something to talk about, eh?”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “No ratshit, Rowena.” He closed his eyes, sighed, gathered the sheet, and all of a sudden George had a lapful of very naked Malfoy. His arms circled the young man before he’d registered what he was doing. 

“Oi!” George exclaimed as he realised that they were in rather a compromising position. “What are you doing here?” 

Scorpius looked him in the eye, took George’s head in his hands, and laid a soft kiss on his lips. “Just this, for now,” he said. “I know the rule about no fraternisation.” 

“You realised you’ve crossed that line, don’t you?” George groaned. 

“Yes,” said Scorpius, sitting up and climbing off George’s lap to wrap himself in the sheet and sit beside him on the settee. “But it can be between us, can’t it?”

George gave him a pained look. “It’ll have to be.” 

“Thank goodness we’ve only got another eight days until this apprenticeship is finished.”

“Er, Scorpius, not that you aren’t incredible...”

Scorpius could hear where _that_ statement was headed. “But what?” he demanded. “There’s absolutely no reason why we shouldn’t get together as soon as my apprenticeship to you is done. And why wouldn’t we, when we both want it?” 

George sighed. “It still has the appearance of being inappropriate – “

“ _Fuck_ inappropriate!”

“– and I totally feel like a dirty old man, since you’re around the age of my own kids.” 

“What if Fred and Roxy gave their approval?” 

“Scorpius!” George was scandalised. “We are not going to my children for permission to date!”

“Well, what do you _want_ , George? Here’s how I see it: I think you’re the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. You’re also smart, stable, funny as hell, and successful. You make me feel warm and cosy inside, much to my surprise. I have witnessed you concoct _me_ as your dream-bloke, and confess some tender feelings during the running of _Desire’s Demand_. Yeah, our ages are pretty far apart, but what does that matter in another twenty or so years? The only thing that I can think of to keep us apart is this silly contractual obligation not to _fraternise_ with one another, which somehow means we’re not allowed to _fuck_.”

George closed his eyes and counted to ten. 

“Alright,” he finally said. “You deserve a full and honest answer. The truth is, I wasn’t going to act on this at all this summer. I was going to pine from afar, and let you go off after your apprenticeship to have the last wild summer of your youth. And while I want more than what we’ve got now, I’m afraid that you’ll blow me off for some sweet young thing or some amazing opportunity.”

“I won’t –” Scorpius started to interject, but George held up his hand. 

“You may not think you would, but Score, you _deserve_ to have and take advantage of those kinds of opportunities. You do. I missed having them, and made some stupid mistakes in my life, like rushing into a het marriage, because of it. You don’t need to be so eager to grow up. 

“That said, I haven’t felt like this about somebody in _ages_. Possibly ever. I could definitely fall in love with you. I’m fairly certain that if you decide to come back to me after finishing at Hogwarts and going on whatever fabulous trip your parents plan to give you, I’ll be more than ready to date you. And we’ll be on more equal footing, since you’ll be starting your own business, and I’ll still be running mine. I want you to grow up, Scorpius. I want to have a serious, solid relationship with you, and I want you to be sure of your own long-term desires and have some sense of your identity as an adult before we take that on.” 

Scorpius gazed silently and thoughtfully at George for several minutes. _Merlin, I wish I knew what he was thinking,_ fretted George. _I hope he doesn’t hate me, or think I’m too old-fashioned for him now._

Finally, Scorpius spoke. “George, I care a lot for you. Maybe I’m a young romantic who doesn’t really know any better, but I think I already love you. And... I can see why you’re nervous about starting a relationship with me just now. I am young, and you’re right, when the internship is done, you probably won’t see much of me until a year from now.” He paused. “My maman is planning on bringing me Papa’s family chateau in France until about a week before the Hogwarts Express leaves, and the point of the trip is to give me exposure to French Wizarding society – making contacts and the like. Sounds bloody boring, but it is what it is; I’m a Malfoy and a Greengrass and need introduction to all the ‘right sort of people,’ as my parents would say. Even though they know that I plan on working for my living and that this will make me less attractive in the eyes of many of the pureblood families. And then they’ll be sending me to the tropics of my choice after I finish my NEWTS. So yes, you’re absolutely right about a relationship being inconvenient, and if I were you, I’d certainly be worried that my young paramour would become...distracted over the course of a year.

“So, I accept. No defined relationship until a year from now, when I return from abroad.”

“You do?” George asked, surprised and a bit disappointed by Scorpius’ quick change of mind. 

“Not happily, mind, but I do. It’s only fair to both of us.” He smiled ironically. “Some of your Gryffindor must have rubbed off on me while I was wearing your scarf, making me consider _fairness_ , of all things.”

George reached his right arm behind Scorpius, squeezing his shoulder before relaxing into a friendly embrace. “Well, the clothes _do_ make the man,” he said. 

“I shudder to think what that made me two hours ago,” retorted Scorpius. “But George?”

“Yeah?” 

Scorpius’ voice softened. “Can we still keep in touch, owl each other and the like? Because I’m going to miss you.” 

George swallowed. “Of course, Score. I’m going to miss you, too.” 

“Well, that’s alright then,” Scorpius said, and sat up, suddenly businesslike. “I reckon we should just quickly compare our observations about the potion and then head home, yeah?”

“You do realise you’ve picked up my verbal tics in addition to Al’s, right?”

“Imitation _is_ the sincerest form of flattery, is it not?”

“The most obvious, maybe.” George straightened his back, ready for a return to the magical scientific method. “Alright. So we both noticed that the psychotropic effects started almost right away. How long did it take for you to feel the physical effects?”

* * *

Scorpius stood from the settee, the items he had accrued during his month at Wheezes shoved haphazardly into a rucksack, with a large pot of the newly-patented ‘Desire’s Demand’ on top. The patent papers were shoved somewhere in his rucksack; George had insisted that he take them, since it was his name on the patent. 

He looked at George. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to have my Wheezes robes back? Maybe you could resize them for your next employee.”

“No, Score,” George smiled. “Those colours are all yours, mate.”

“Hmpf,” Scorpius grunted, though he strove to keep even his grunts and snorts as dignified as possible. He was, however, uncomfortable; unsure how he was supposed to say goodbye, unsure how to bring this part of his summer to an end.

“Er, thanks for the party, George. It was loads of fun.”

George laughed outright. “Oh, Score, the look on your face when you realised that we’d culled only male dancing fairies for your fairy lights! And the pudding-eating contest you let Teddy goad you into....”

Scorpius sniffed. “He just took advantage of the competitive streak endemic to Slytherin House.” This statement did nothing to subdue George’s laughter; in fact, he was coming close to his world-famous cackle. 

“Oh my, Score,” George gasped. “I’m going to miss having you here more than you can know.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Scorpius gave him a sad smile. “I’ll miss you an awful lot.”

“Ah, yes...” George said as he caught his breath. “Listen, I have a little gift for you.”

Scorpius quirked an eyebrow. “A little gift that you need to give to me in private?” He felt his face break into a grin as George’s face flushed. “Ooh! A _naughty_ gift, is it, George? I can’t wait!”

“Well, you’ll rather have to wait to use it, I’m afraid.” He handed Scorpius a small box. Scorpius pulled the bow out of the ribbon around it, and opened the box carefully. Nestled inside shredded parchment was a phial filled with swirling silver. 

“A Pensieve memory?” Scorpius asked, awed. 

George nodded. “Of that first time I tried ‘Desire’s Demand,’” he said, looking down. 

Scorpius stepped over to him, took his chin in hand and lifted it so that George had to meet his eyes. “Thank you, George,” he said. “This is incredibly special, and I shall treasure it.” His eyes sparkled. “And wank to it, of course!” He kissed George on the mouth, light and chaste. 

_This is sweet, this kiss,_ thought Scorpius. As he pulled away, he said, “And I have parting gifts for you, as well.”

“Gifts? You didn’t need to give me anything,” George protested.

Scorpius gave him a sceptical look. “Oh, really? After all you’ve done for me this summer? Leaving someone’s home without sharing a gift with them just _isn’t done_ , George. I have actually learned something from all the years of comportment lessons Maman has forced on me.” Scorpius pulled away from George and walked back to his rucksack, pulling out a box slightly larger than the one that had contained the phial, as well as a scroll tied with a green ribbon.

“Here. These are for you,” he said, handing the items to George.

George made to untie the ribbon on the scroll, but Scorpius stopped him. “No, wait until you are alone to open these. If you need to respond, you can owl me.” 

“O-kay, Score. May I thank you in advance, even though I don’t know what they are?” 

“But of course!” Scorpius said impishly, and cocked his head. “It’s about time for me to get home for dinner. One more hug before I go?”

“But of course,” murmured George, stretching his arms out. Scorpius relaxed into his embrace for long seconds, finally bestowing a final light kiss to George’s pink lips.

“Until next summer?” Scorpius asked.

“Until next summer,” George confirmed, and Scorpius felt his gaze, heavy on him as he strode to the Floo, gathered the green grains into his fingertips, and threw it in, shouting, “Malfoy Manor!”

* * *

> 31st July, 2025
> 
> Dear George,
> 
> I imagine we’ve just had quite the awkward good-bye – I’ve been dreading that moment for weeks. And it’s crushing to think that you won’t be a fixture in my life for another year, though yes, I do accept that. 
> 
> So I’m leaving you with some parting gifts. The one you should look at first is inside the box. Go ahead, open it.
> 
>  
> 
> Do you like it? I made it myself, moulded it from some of that leftover Tiberian clay, and cast a plasticity charm on it so it wouldn’t get all hardened and brittle. I was remembering that day when you spoke of how St Mungo’s wasn’t able to give you a suitable prosthesis. I thought that was just plain silly; how hard could it be to replace the cartilage with some sort of moulded ear? Even if it were from Muggle rubber or something. 
> 
> This isn’t Muggle rubber, though. The fact that it’s the same batch of Tiberian clay as that which we used for the Incense of Canens means that it will be particularly effective in helping you re-learn how to interpret volume and tone as the ear funnels the sound towards your eardrum. You can charm it to be whatever colour you want, and whatever shape you want – I made it blue to start since it clashes so badly with your hair. Can’t have George Weasley of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes looking anything short of ridiculous, can we? But a word to the wise: making yourself look like an elf or a goblin is one thing; making yourself look like a cat is another. I doubt that a cat ear would work very well for you – stick to humanoid ears, George! 
> 
> As for keeping it on, just use a standard sticking charm. Stay away from those permanent ones; you don’t want to be stuck with my twee attempt at making a new ear if a better version comes along. 
> 
>  
> 
> On to the second part of my gift, which, as you might have guessed, is contained in the rest of this scroll. I have written for you an account of the first fantasy I had of you with the assistance of Desire’s Demand – the fantasy you watched me having. Please, don’t laugh; I actually went through several drafts over the past few days. It’s quite racy, so you might want to wait until you get home. Or not. Just make sure that Teddy isn’t about to come into the office if you choose to read it there. 
> 
>  
> 
> In preparation for the fantasy, I was very careful of where I spread the gel. I’d just watched you get off with my name on your lips, and was about ready to come already, even though I’d several times visualised my way out of the erection. So my question was, what sort of fantasy do I want to have? What kind of lover do I want to be, do I want George to be, especially since I know he will be watching and I very well might be moving in such a way that there can be no question what sort of activities I’m dreaming about. 
> 
> I slicked my hands and wrists, almost halfway up the forearms. I spread the gel around my neck, rubbing just a little onto my earlobes, which are always sensitive. My nipples, too, just in case. I reached behind myself and prepared my hole, using the potion as a lubricant, sticking one, two, three fingers inside of me. This, even though I knew that the fantasy you would be stretching me as well. 
> 
> By then, the fumes were starting to enter my mind. But I persevered. I shoved a little extra gel into my arsehole, hoping it was going deep enough to hit my prostate, because, damn, I wanted you to hit my prostate while your dream-self was fucking me. Then I spread some onto my arse cheeks and the backs of my thighs – remember how I told you I was a kinky bastard? I then move the gel ever-so-lightly over my cock, around my bollocks and onto the perineum before finally spreading some on my hips – the hips I know you want to grab when you’re fucking me because I watched you fantasise about doing just that. 
> 
> Finally, my mouth. Did I tell you I’d watched you lick your lips and then use your newly-potioned tongue to do marvellous things? It had looked like you were rimming me; is that something you fantasise about doing? When I wank now, I think of that image, the image of you on your knees, the sheet hanging from your cock, your mouth open and sucking, your tongue jabbing in and out of your mouth and sometimes taking a moment to reach further out and wiggle or rotate. It gets me so hard, so hot. It’s unbearable. 
> 
> Right now I’ve got one hand on my quill, the other cupping my cock through my trousers. I expect that by the time this letter is finished, I’ll have pulled it out and be stroking it long and hard. You’ll forgive me if I’m a few minutes late to work on my last day, won’t you?
> 
> Right. So I’ve slicked my lips, making sure to get the corners of my mouth and the skin around the lips in case my fantasy self decides to suck you off. And I’ve used my fingers to purposefully anoint my tongue, so that it will both receive and give – shush, it’s my fantasy! – pleasure. 
> 
> Finally, looking over at you, seated on the settee in your blindfold and Gryffindor scarf, I made my way over to the Testing Area and lied down, pulling the sheet over me so that I could at least pretend a semblance of propriety. And I give up my conscious thought. 
> 
> We are in your office; you’re working on some sort of, well, something, I don’t really care what, but it’s paperwork. I saunter over to your desk and put my hands on your shoulders, aiming to rub some of the tension out. You close your eyes and tilt your head back just slightly, exposing sore muscles on the sides of your neck. I massage those, too, my fingers rubbing hard little circles up and down the cords. “Mmm,” you moan. “Score, that feels so good. You’ve no idea.” 
> 
> “Sure I do,” I answer, then take a risk: I bend my own head down to kiss the juncture of your neck and shoulder, darting my tongue out to taste the soap and sweat there. 
> 
> You stiffen, and turn around so quickly that I’m nearly knocked over. “What do you think you’re doing?” you demand. I shrug a bit, and you glare at me.
> 
> “I’m finally doing what we both want, George,” I say after the silent tension becomes so thick that I want to cry. 
> 
> “Presumptuous, aren’t we?” you try to sneer, but I can tell your heart’s not in it. “You know this isn’t allowed, Scorpius Malfoy. No fraternisation.” 
> 
> “Fuck it!” I say vehemently. “Aren’t you the one who always says that rules can be bent a long way back before they snap?”
> 
> “Well, if I kissed you back, there would definitely be a snapping sound,” you snarl, and I can’t help it, I think your anger, your tenuous grasp on self-control is dead sexy, and I move in again, trying to put my arms around your neck. 
> 
> But I fail; you’ve grabbed my hands tightly and started to move me backward towards the Floo, moving to grab both my wrists in one fist as you toss some Floo Powder into the fire and shout, “Flatulence Flat!” 
> 
> When I’ve stopped laughing at your Floo address, you old fart, I realise you are still holding me, holding my wrists together, holding them so tightly that it is starting to hurt. You grab your wand and command, “Accio hemp rope!”
> 
> My cock, which had only been threatening to go hard during all this, definitely sees the advantage of filling at the idea of having my arms bound. I wonder, what else might you bind?
> 
> You move my arms from where they’d been captured above my head to behind my back, looping the rope ‘round my torso and then securing wrist to elbow. I’m not sure I like this game completely; you’ve not taken my shirt off, and now it doesn’t look like it’ll be coming off anytime soon. Except then you murmur, “Divesto,” and my soul praises magic again. 
> 
> “Look at you,” you say, pacing around me. “Is this only way to keep your hands and mouth from wandering where they’re not supposed to?”
> 
> “No, George,” I whisper. “I can be good.” 
> 
> “Oh, I’m sure you could be good,” you retort. “I just doubt you’re motivated enough to make it happen for more than a minute.” You look down at my cock, hard and ready for action. “Especially with that stiffie.” 
> 
> I drop my head, conceding the point. I’ve neither respect for the rules of my apprenticeship, nor the willpower to keep from breaking them even if I did. You finish your circuit and sit on a battered ottoman. “Come here,” you say. 
> 
> I come. No, I don’t orgasm. I mean that I walk to you. “Lie across my lap,” you say. 
> 
> “George?” I query, hoping you’re planning to spank me, afraid that you are planning to spank me. For while I’ve certainly fantasised in the past about submitting to spankings or stronger beatings – I did grow up in a manor house with a dungeon, after all – I’ve never actually been subjected to one. But I’m curious. More than curious. Curious enough that I had spread Desire’s Demand on my bottom, hoping to work that particular fantasy into this one. 
> 
> “Lie. Across. My lap,” you repeat. “Now.” 
> 
> I lie across your lap. 
> 
> You spank me, your bare hand hitting my bare arse over and over, alternating between series of soft smacks, more like pats, and harder whacks that make me whimper in pain. And make my cock ache. I’m so hard that I’m starting to hump your legs. “Oh, no,” you say. “You won’t be coming while you’re being punished like this. Stay still.”
> 
> I am so unsuccessful at this that you stop spanking me and push me slowly to the floor. “Kneel,” you say. I kneel. You reach down, pinch my nipples hard while you kiss me, your tongue plundering my mouth. “You want to break the rules, Mr Malfoy?” you ask. “We’re going to break them hard, then. But first, a little taste.” 
> 
> I’m confused as the head of your cock passes my lips and I suck delicately, my tongue pushing the foreskin back and forth. Isn’t this breaking the rules “hard”? I’d certainly call it ‘fraternisation;’ what we’re doing is just short of fucking. 
> 
> Oh. That’s what you mean, isn’t it? My eyes go wide at the realisation, and you look down and laugh. “Oh yes,” you say, pulling your cock with its taste of you out of my mouth. “We’re going to get on to the shagging in just a bit.”
> 
> And then you leave the room. I realise after a few moments on my own, my cock still erect but beginning to falter, that this is the punishment for young men who find their spankings arousing.
> 
> When you return, you are carrying a tumbler of water. “Here, drink,” you say, and hold the glass up to my lips. I sip, I swallow. Water drips down my chin and onto my chest. I take a breath, and you ask whether I want to finish the glass; I shake my head. 
> 
> You unbind my arms, take my hand, and I realise that now you are naked, too. You lead me back to your bedroom, with an old tied quilt on the bed. I stare at it in fascination; we’ve nothing like it at my house. “It’s from when everything needed to be saved,” you say, as if that explains everything, and I suppose it does. 
> 
> I bend my head to kiss you, and you finally wrap your arms possessively around me. We deepen the kiss, and I wish you would swallow me whole. I want you to own me. “Please, George, please, please, please...” 
> 
> Understanding my plea, you push me onto the bed, face first, and lie gently on top of me. “You want me to please fuck you, is that it, Scorpius?” 
> 
> “Oh, yes,” I say. What you don’t know is that I’ve never bottomed before. Not to anyone. Even my first time, I topped, because, I reasoned, I’d done more reading on the subject than had Kent. I knew about such things as preparation, you see. 
> 
> And you did see, gasping as my hole easily took two fingers, and with just a little prodding ate your third. “Dirty, slutty boy,” you growl, kneeling on my calves and leaving my back cold. “Did you do this for me, or do you always go around stretched like a Knockturn Alley whore?” 
> 
> “For you, George, only for you. Only you, you, you, you...” I’m chanting, barely cognisant of what I’m saying. I can’t believe you’re being this assertive, talking this dirty to me, but I don’t have the focus to question it now. For the moment, you are the sun that I orbit, my own satellites be damned. You’ve got one hand buried in my arse, opening like a tripod to stretch me, then closing and twisting to hit my sweet spot in turn; the other hand is tugging at my balls, keeping me from coming. “Please, George!” I whinge. 
> 
> “Please, what?”
> 
> “Please, take me, use me, fuck me!” I cry, and with that you flip me onto my back and haul my legs up so that my knees are bent nearly to my shoulders, and position your cock, your red, stout, gleaming cock, at my arsehole. 
> 
> “Are you absolutely sure?” Your whisper is almost reverent. 
> 
> “Yes, George. Please. I want this,” I say, and feel you push forward, your fist guiding the head of your cock into my hole so that it doesn’t slip out. I gasp as it enters; there’s not a terrible lot of burning, but I still feel a bit, and in any event, I feel like you are breaking me open. 
> 
> “All right, Score?” you ask, looking up at me. Sweat is glistening on your brow, and I nod. I think you are the sexiest man on two legs, and not just because it’s your cock inside me. Your face has an openness that I’m used to seeing only rarely, when we’ve got a quiet moment together and our conversation wanders into non-Wheeze territory. Yes. This is definitely alright. 
> 
> As you proceed in shagging me, leaning down as you pull out a bit to grab kisses or give me love bites, my legs open further, then wrap behind your back in their own sort of embrace. I’ve watched your technique; I know how you fuck. But it’s amazing to actually feel the thrust-rotate-thrust-withdraw being pounded into my arse, to be the one gasping and moaning as I’m broken, stroked, created anew. And after we come, you growing stiff above and inside me as your hand tugs and twists at my own penis until it spurts, you pull out slowly and collapse in the bed beside me. I’m shaking from the orgasm; somehow, coming always lowers my blood pressure. “Budge up a bit,” you say, and pull the now-messy quilt over us. 
> 
> We cuddle. Despite the fact that I am taller, I tuck my head into your chest, and you stroke my hair as my hand pets the soft copper and white hairs on your chest. Who would have thought a bloke as freckly as you would have such glorious chest hair? Not I. I’m still bald as a baby. 
> 
> “George?” I murmur.
> 
> “Yeah, Score?” 
> 
> “Thank you for this. Even if it’s only the once,” I say. 
> 
> “Oh, Score. It’s not the once,” you say. “I love you, you know.”
> 
> A glowing happiness is expanding in my chest, and I feel like dancing, though that would require moving from the nest of your arms. “I love you, too, George,” I say, and grin against your chest. We fall asleep snuggled together like that, and a wee bit later, I wake up, my legs twisted in messy sheet. 
> 
>  
> 
> That was my fantasy. I reckon it’s not terribly realistic, but I’d love to see your wilder side come out sometime. I bet that there’s a ferocious Papa Bear in there to go along with the Teddy Bear that is more easily apparent. I want to know them both. 
> 
> I hope that you have a good year. Send me owls if you miss me! I’ll try to be good about my correspondence. 
> 
> With affection and desire,  
>  Scorpius Malfoy

* * *

  
HOGWARTS APPRENTICES REFLECT ON THEIR SUMMER PLACEMENTS  
By Albus S. Potter

>   
> _August 1, 2025_
> 
> ...Finally, I was lucky enough to speak with Scorpius Malfoy, who spent the past month apprenticing under George Weasley of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. 
> 
> **ASP:** What sort of work are you doing with Mr Weasley?  
>  **SM:** Oh, all sorts of things. I help out with greeting and sales, of course, but much of my time has been devoted to learning the knuts and sickles of producing, patenting, and introducing new products to the Wizarding population.  
>  **ASP:** Really? Did you design any of the products by yourself?  
>  **SM:** Of course not. While I have ideas for a couple of projects, nobody at Wheezes ever works alone. It’s a safety in numbers thing.  
>  **ASP:** Have you grown particularly close to anyone on the staff at Wheezes?  
>  **SM:** Well, the staff does function like a highly chaotic, though loving, family. But I got closest to Mr Weasley himself; since he’smy Mentor, I spent the most time with him.  
>  **ASP:** What is the greatest lesson you will take from this summer, Scorpius?  
>  **SM:** _[Mr Malfoy pauses, considering.]_ It would be easy to say, ‘Hold on to your playfulness,’ since imaginative energy is the fuel of invention. But instead, I have to say, follow your passions. Even if others don’t understand them, they’re _your_ passions and the key to _your_ happiness.
> 
> Indeed, that seems to be the greatest lesson taken by all the apprentices I interviewed. The Summer Apprenticeship Program is, from these accounts, as rousing a success as usual. With any luck, these students, including yours truly, will be able to take the lessons we’ve learned over the past month and use them to help plan our future. 
> 
> My thanks in particular goes to Rita Skeeter, _The Daily Prophet_ , and to those students and mentors who allowed me to interview them in the past week. My apprenticeship here is done, but my curiosity continues to know no bounds. 
> 
> Perhaps you shall see more of my writing in the future. Until then, adieu.


End file.
